


Ensnared

by loveandwar007



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Gen, Next Generation, OC / OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwar007/pseuds/loveandwar007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mytho and Rue's son is in search of a reason for living. Fakir and Duck's daughter has been sheltered and trapped within a high tower her entire life. Herr Drosselmeyer has brought another tale to life and now it is their children who may pay the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Story Must Begin

Chapter 1 – Another Story Must Begin

“Fakir…Hey, Fakir… _Fakir! ___”

At once, he was shaken bolt upright from a dreamless sleep, his dark hair loose and wavy flung into his eyes, his bare chest dewed with a cold sweat. The twenty-one year old man groped for the dim candle lamp on the dresser and turned the flame up, the bedroom washed in a golden light as he brought the lamp closer to the girl lying beside him. Fakir’s gaze met the clear deep blue eyes of his seventeen-year-old bride staring up at him—seemingly unconcerned, despite the way she had cried out for him.

“What is it?!” Fakir panted. “Are you hurt? Is it the—?”

“No no, it’s fine,” Duck responded quietly, her hand moving gently across the round belly she had been forced to grow accustomed to for the past several months. “Everything’s fine.”

Fakir’s frantic concern quickly became sheer annoyance as he slammed the lamp back down on the dresser, “Damn it, Duck, do you have any idea what time it is?!”

“But I’m hungry,” Duck said in a tone that most definitely suggested a whine, which only irritated Fakir even more.

“We just ate dinner,” he said promptly. It had become his automatic response whenever Duck got one of these strange midnight cravings—which only seemed to become more frequent as her pregnancy grew.

“But I’m really in the mood for… _breadcrumbs, ___” Duck said, a smile crossing her face, as if by eating a handful of breadcrumbs she could at last die happily.

“You _always ___want breadcrumbs!” Fakir spluttered, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Anyone would think you were a bird or something—” He stopped and eyed Duck once he’d realized the sheer irony what he’d just said, and she returned his gaze with an icy glare. “Sorry…I suppose I just figured once I’d transformed you into a human permanently…old habits would die hard.”

“Well, they don’t in my case,” Duck hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Now go get the bread crumbs before I get really upset and pass out.”

_One more month…one more month of this insanity… ___It was the only thing that propelled Fakir to fling the covers off him and trek down the stairs to the kitchen. Searching through the cupboard, he prayed that there was still some bread left, otherwise—he shuddered—he’d be up all night making more bread from scratch, he was sure of it.

“Here it is, zura!” cried out a happy voice, and Fakir nearly jumped out of his skin as he looked down at Uzura. The little puppet held a quarter loaf of bread in her tiny hands, smiling up at him.

“Thanks, but don’t scare me like that,” Fakir said quietly. Grabbing the loaf, he rushed back up the stairs and into the bedroom, Uzura at his heels. He thrust the bread into his wife’s waiting hands as he flopped back down on his side of the bed, prepared to fall back asleep…

“What is this?” came Duck’s voice from the semi-darkness.

“Bread, darling,” Fakir responded, his eyes still closed and sarcasm dripping on the normally loving expression.

“I’m pretty sure I said bread _crumbs, ___” Duck said after a slight pause. “Right?”

It had been months and months, nearly four years, since Fakir had ever gotten the urge to strike the girl next to him, so he was shocked when he was seized with that impulse. Taking a deep breath, however, he pushed the thought from his mind and calmly rolled over onto his side to face her. Forcing a smile through tight lips, Fakir said simply, “Cut it yourself.”

“Are you crazy?” Duck said, her eyes widening as if he had asked her to slay a Monster Raven single-handedly. “I can barely walk like this, let alone get down the stairs!”

“Well then, I guess you’ll have to eat the bread like that,” Fakir sighed. “’Cause I am _not ___getting up again.”

“Yes you will, because you love me,” Duck said sweetly, and Fakir groaned—that was the best card she could play?

“I don’t love you when you’re like this,” Fakir said, and Duck gasped.

“You don’t love me?” she whimpered, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. _The mood swings… ___

“Not like _this! ___” Fakir reiterated loudly, rolling back over and pulling the covers up to his chin. “This pregnancy is going to be the death of me…”

“The death of _you?! ___” Duck screeched, her eyes blazing. Grabbing her pillow, she proceeded to beat Fakir repeatedly over the head with it, “I’m the one who goes through all of the food cravings and emotional swings! I’m the one who’s positively humongous and ugly! I’m the one who’s terrified of the day I’m eventually going to have to get this baby out of me somehow! And it’s going to be the death of you?!”

“I’ll cut it for you, zura,” came Uzura’s voice from the foot of the bed. Duck froze, the pillow raised over Fakir’s head once more. With a deep sigh, she set it back onto the bed and handed the small loaf of bread to the little puppet.

“Thank you, Uzura,” Duck said quietly, “At least _someone ___cares.”

“You’re not ugly,” came Fakir’s equally soft voice from the other side of the bed. Duck looked down at him as he rolled back over to face her. “You’ve never been ugly, not ever,” he repeated firmly, sitting up closer to her. Reaching over, he gently caressed Duck’s stomach, and she placed her hand on top of his.

“I’m sorry,” Duck whispered.

“Don’t be,” Fakir said, kissing her cheek. “You’ve been through a lot these past eight months or so, and I…I lose sight of that sometimes. But you’ve handled it so well.” He stopped as he felt a small infant kick against his palm, and he let out a soft laugh. “You’re strong, Duck…the strongest person I know, so don’t be scared about how the child will be born or even afterwards, because I’ll be right there beside you the entire time. And even though it seems like a burden now, it’s all going to pay off in the end. We’re going to have a son or daughter to call our own—and they’re going to have a wonderful mother.”

“They’re going to have a pretty great father, too,” Duck said, looking over at Fakir and pecking his lips briefly before snuggling down against him under the covers, “Mmm…I can’t wait…”

“Me neither,” Fakir said, wrapping his arm around her and closing his eyes.

“Your bread, zura!” Uzura cried out, returning with a bowl of bread crumbs. Duck swiftly grabbed for the bowl and began shoving the hunks of bread into her mouth as if her life depended on it.

“Oh yes,” Duck said happily once she’d polished off the last of it. “See Fakir, would that have been so much to ask?”

Fakir couldn’t help but groan again, _One more month… ___

~

_One more month indeed…Before the waters of time flow once again…Another dust-worn book is opened…Another set of pages comes to life on the stage I have created…A stage I have been saving for the likes of you…_

Yes…another story will begin… __

~

“It’s a girl!”

Fakir’s head snapped up from where it had been buried in his hands for what seemed like hours. He and Charon jumped to their feet as Raetsal flung open the door to the bedroom, a bright smile lighting up her beaming features as she called out the news to the two men. “A beautiful baby girl!”

“And Duck? How is she?” Fakir asked as evenly as possible. His young wife had been petrified when the baby’s intense and unceasing kicking had forced her into an early labor. He still couldn’t get her screams of pain out of his head when Raetsal told him to wait outside while she and Uzura took care of the childbirth, foreseeing severe complications due to her premature delivery. No, Fakir was not even permitted to sit at his wife’s side as she gave birth to their child, holding tightly to her hand, supporting her, encouraging her. For hours…he, Charon, and Raetsal were not even sure if Duck would survive the childbirth, and Fakir had had to come to grips with the possibility of losing Duck—this time, forever. Even now, Fakir eyed the bloodstained blankets Raetsal was holding warily.

“She’s fine,” Raetsal said, hugging Fakir tightly with her free arm. “It’s a miracle, but she’s just fine.”

“Thank you,” Fakir said in a strangled voice before pushing his way into the bedroom. Duck was lying tucked in the bed, and beside her Uzura was leaning over a small bassinet curiously. She looked up quickly when Fakir entered and tottered over to him.

“Shh, she’s asleep, zura,” Uzura indicated the bassinet, pressing a finger to her lips scoldingly as Fakir smiled down at her and patted her head in thanks. 

“Fakir?” came a small, weak voice from the bed. It was all it took for Fakir to fly across the room in two strides to the edge of the bed, gazing down at Duck’s pale face coated in a sheen of sweat.

“I’m here Duck, I’m right here,” Fakir assured, leaning over her and patting her perspired face with a cool cloth.

“Oh…I’m so glad…” Duck reached up and brought her hand to his face, forcing him to look directly into her eyes. “It was so scary…and now…I’m just so tired.”

“I should have been here, beside you like I promised,” Fakir bit out through gritted teeth. “And the waiting and the uncertainty—do you have any idea how close I came to losing you?”

“Is this your way of saying you love me or something?” Duck asked with a smile, a weak smile that still managed to cast any other worries and regrets from Fakir’s mind as he closed his eyes, leaning into the gentle touch of her small hand. Gathering her frail form into his arms, he held her as closely and as tightly as he dared to as tears began to overtake him, refusing to let Duck see this weakness in him.

“I love you…I love you so much, you idiot,” Fakir murmured into her free-flowing long red hair as she stroked his own dark locks. Pulling back just enough, Fakir brought his lips to hers in a loving kiss that expressed nothing less than his eternal devotion to her and how grateful he was that her unwavering strength had gotten them through this. 

“So…” Duck said with a grin as they broke apart. “Ready to meet your daughter?”

“Of course,” Fakir said. Duck sat up carefully and reached over into the bassinet, lifting a small bundle of pink blankets. “Mind her head,” she whispered as she handed the bundle to Fakir.

“Oh Duck…” Fakir breathed, for in his arms peaking through the pink blanket was the tiniest face he had ever seen, eyes scrunched tight, stirring slightly at the sudden movement but still in a silent slumber. “Duck, she’s _beautiful. ___” He didn’t care now that the tears ran without restraint down his cheeks, and Duck felt such joy that he was as moved by this moment as she was.

“A beautiful child deserves a pretty name, don’t you think?” she asked, leaning against his shoulder as they both gazed at the sleeping infant. “Have you thought of any—?”

“Luisa,” Fakir replied without a moment’s hesitation. Duck blinked, completely taken aback.

“Luisa… _really? ___” Duck asked, furrowing her brow. “You sure you don’t want something more simple, like Mary or Clara? Luisa just seems so—”

“It was my mother’s name,” Fakir cut her off as if he hadn’t heard her. That didn’t stop a bright, luminescent blush as red as her hair to spread across Duck’s face—why did she always have to open her big mouth? “I mean, if you don’t mind…” Fakir brushed back the jet black and forest green wisps of hair on the baby girl’s head. The baby’s eyelids slowly opened to reveal azure eyes identical to the ones that had stolen Fakir’s heart long ago, and she cooed up at her father, no longer squirming in the unfamiliar arms.

“Oh…I understand,” Duck nodded solemnly as Fakir handed her the baby, who immediately responded favorably to her mother’s touch.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just—”

“No Fakir, it’s fine,” Duck reassured him, “You just…never mentioned it before.” She cradled the newborn and kissed her little forehead as Fakir wrapped the two most important women in his life into his strong, protective embrace. With a contented sigh, Duck rested her head against Fakir’s chest, “Luisa is a lovely name.”

~

_Luisa…an exquisite yet fierce name…perfect for a heroine, no doubt about that…Oh yes, she will do nicely, very nicely indeed…and this time, I will avoid the mistake I made before…bringing a character into my story that could already think for herself…no, I won’t let that happen again…“get them while they’re young” as the saying goes…and my tragedy will finally commence… ___

~

_Not again…how the hell am I supposed to get any writing done at this rate?! ___Fakir sighed to himself as Luisa wailed loudly on the other side of his study door. The initial joy at bringing his baby daughter into the world was waning as he soon discovered the demands of fatherhood were putting him severely behind in his writing. Of course he loved his daughter dearly, but six weeks of this was definitely taking its toll. He tried feeding her, changing her, rocking her; good God he’d even _sang ___to her and still Luisa was unsettled. _That’s it, ___Fakir threw down his quill and stomped over to the door, wrenching it open as Luisa’s crying reached a pinnacle, and did the only thing he could possibly think of:

“Hey, shut up!” Fakir roared from the doorway. At once, Luisa fell silent at her father’s command, and Fakir closed the study door with a satisfied snap. Silence…it really is golden, Fakir thought as he took up his quill once again.

“Fakir!” He threw the quill down and flung up his hands in defeat as Duck banged the door open, staring angrily at him. “What is your problem?! That’s no way to treat our baby and you know it!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Fakir said conclusively, leaning back in his chair. “I couldn’t get any writing done with that incessant noise!”

“She’s _hungry, ___Fakir,” Duck said, moving away from the door to the crib set up in the living area.

“She just ate two hours ago!” Fakir cried out incredulously. 

“Exactly, and now she needs to be fed again,” Duck said as patiently as she could, fetching a bottle from the kitchen. “Did you even _look ___at the book Autor gave us?”

“My apologies, I’ve been a bit busy trying to support this family,” Fakir said through gritted teeth as Duck lifted the whimpering Luisa from the crib.

“I can’t take care of her _all ___of the time!” Duck exclaimed exasperatedly, sitting in the rocking chair with Luisa in one arm and holding the bottle in her other hand.

“I’ll take care of her—when she’s older,” Fakir said and Duck rolled her eyes, her attention moving to the baby in her lap.

“Ooh, Luisa just wants a nice bottle, doesn’t she?” Duck cooed in a singsong voice as Luisa sucked the nipple of the bottle vigorously. “Yes, I’m sure Father didn’t mean to be so mean to you, _did he? ___” She glowered in Fakir’s direction, and he stared at the ground uncomfortably.

“Alright look, if you just let me write until dinner, I’ll take her for the rest of the evening so you can rest,” Fakir gave in, kneeling beside the chair and giving his wife a small smile, “Fair?”

“Sounds good to me,” Duck said, removing the bottle and wiping Luisa’s mouth with the blanket. Leaning back in the chair, Duck held the baby closer to her breast and stroked the top of her head, her forehead crinkling quizzically, “Have you ever noticed Luisa’s hair?”

“It looks like mine?” Fakir suggested.

“No I mean, it’s _long, ___” Duck replied, running the tips of her fingers through the locks atop Luisa’s head. “Longer than babies’ hair usually is, don’t you think?”

“Looks like she’ll be taking after Mother,” Fakir snorted to himself and Duck whacked him on the arm playfully before looking back at Luisa.

“It’s just…strange…” Duck whispered.

_“That it is, isn’t it?” ___came a deep, most unwelcome ghostly voice. Duck and Fakir both jumped up and spun around to face the grandfather clock against the wall. “You haven’t shut me out already, have you little Duck?”

“Drosselmeyer!” Fakir shouted out, pushing his wife behind him as Duck held Luisa closer to her protectively. “Come on out, you coward.”

“Now is that any way to talk to your elders, boy?” the withered old man chuckled, materializing before them from within the clock and stepping closer to them. Their surroundings at once were washed in a blinding white light as time seemed to freeze once again, as it did whenever the dead man felt like making an appearance.

“What do you want?” Duck asked in a sharp, fearless voice, though she gripped Fakir’s hand tightly. Out the corner of his eye, Fakir caught sight of the Lohengrin sword atop the mantle…

“Well, you really pulled out all the stops in order to live happily, didn’t you my boy?” Drosselmeyer commented, striding the length of the room with his blood red cape billowing behind him. “The duck became a human girl and married the useless knight. What a blissful period of calm waters you both have sailed…but now, so unfortunate that you have treaded into some uncharted seas.”

“You have no business here,” Fakir hissed in a tone so malicious that Duck was frightened, until she remembered she had the assuring warmth of his strong hand in hers. “So why show up now, speaking in vague riddles?”

“Contrary to your assumption, I _do ___have some business here,” the deceased man. “Very important business, in fact: Fate’s cruel die has been cast…another story shall leap from the pages and take shape in your reality.”

“Another tale…is coming to life?” Duck whispered.

“No,” Fakir said defiantly, letting go of Duck’s hand and stepping closer to his demented ancestor. “Four years ago, after The Prince and the Raven was completed, I devoted my life to writing this town’s story—to making sure no other tragedy would befall it again. And I do not intend to break that promise for as long as I live.”

“Oh you are correct, Gold Crown Town is safe as long as you are here,” Drosselmeyer nodded, the manic smile never leaving his face. “But beyond these walls, there are so many possibilities, so many stories to complete, and I have grown restless waiting for one to spring into being.” He brought his white gloves hands together, pressed his finger tips to his mouth in thought, “So now…it falls to me to set another story into motion.” He swept away from Fakir and glided closer to where Duck stood holding Luisa closely, “My, my…how you’ve blossomed, little Duck—”

“Don’t you _dare ___touch her!” Fakir shot at Drosselmeyer loudly, causing Luisa to awaken in Duck’s arms and begin to cry.

“I’ve no need to, her destiny is no longer in my power,” Drosselmeyer stated calmly. 

“Then take your leave,” Fakir growled, pulling his wife against him as Duck tried to soothe the infant, “Don’t cry, Luisa…hush, sweetheart…”

“But the _child… ___” Drosselmeyer breathed hungrily, and Duck gasped up at him, holding the crying baby closer.

“What of Luisa?” Fakir asked, his eyes narrowed at the dead man.

“Your daughter will serve as the heroine in my latest tragedy,” Drosselmeyer replied, his eyes never leaving the bundle in Duck’s arms.

“You can’t have her,” Duck said angrily, a hatred she had never known before welling up like a ball of fire in her heart.

“It wasn’t a request,” Drosselmeyer said, his grin fading at her insolence.

“I won’t let you!” Duck cried out in a broken voice, turning herself and the baby away from him and into Fakir’s protective embrace.

“There’s no choice now, the tale has already begun, moving forward as we speak,” Drosselmeyer continued. “A young beauty locked away from the outside world…a girl distinctive only in her tresses that grew to an unbelievable length. You have of course already noticed this, haven’t you?”

Duck and Fakir both looked down in horror at Luisa, whose hair already seemed to have grown a few inches longer in the recent minutes past. “You monster…” Duck said, a tremble evident in her voice, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, “You planned this from the beginning!”

“Marked from the moment she was born, destined to live in a world of tragedy under my watchful eye,” Drosselmeyer said, clearly pleased by his plan. He looked back up at Fakir, “By taking your daughter, raising her as my own, I get my marvelous tragedy…and you two are punished for your sins of long ago. Dappling in story-spinning is dangerous, boy—”

“Stay away from my daughter!” Fakir shouted.

“A price must be paid, now _give me the child! ___” Drosselmeyer roared, and without a moment’s wait, reached out a large spindly hand and snatched the baby from Duck’s arms.

“No!” Duck screamed, bursting into tears upon the loss of contact with her daughter, as Drosselmeyer made for the clock exit back to his world. No sooner had the fossil reached his destination that a sharp clang of metal on wood blocked his pathway—and Drosselmeyer turned with a clenched laugh to see Fakir, breathing heavily, glaring with utmost hatred, and wielding the Lohengrin sword he had seized from the mantle.

“Let her go,” Fakir demanded in a low, husky voice. 

“Or else what?” Drosselmeyer laughed. “You’ll kill me?”

“I’ll cut you to pieces, you sadistic filth!” Fakir yelled in fury, slicing the blade through the dead man’s cheek. Drosselmeyer merely grinned as the bloodless wound mended itself, and Fakir continued to slice at him in an uncontrolled rage, “I won’t let you take her!” Raising the sword high above his head, he made to plunge the sword through Drosselmeyer’s chest—just as the old man cackled and thrust the baby into the path of the sword, already descending in swift motion.

“ _FAKIR! ___” Duck screamed out desperately at the top of her voice, and the blade ceased its plunge. There was silence, broken only by Luisa’s crying that has not died down since being separated from her mother. Fakir panted heavily, his eyes widened in horror as he realized the sword had come mere inches from taking the life of his helpless little girl.

“You can’t harm _me, ___” Drosselmeyer grinned evilly, “You would harm your own daughter in your vain attempt to rid me from this world?” Fakir stared from Drosselmeyer down to his baby and over at Duck, her hands clasped over her mouth. Clenching his eyes shut tight and trembling with suppressed anger and helplessness, Fakir dropped the sword to the floor with a loud clatter. “There, now we’ve reached an understanding…”

“Give her back, _please! ___” Duck wept, rushing forward towards the clock world entrance where Drosselmeyer stood. “Take me instead!”

“Idiot! What are you _thinking?! ___” Fakir cried out, grabbing Duck around the waist as she made to throw herself into the portal within the grandfather clock.

“Your story is finished, my dear little Duck,” Drosselmeyer laughed at the absurdity of this bargain. “Don’t worry, I will care for your child…for her story has only just begun…”

“Luisa!” Duck screamed, the portal sealing shut, the grandfather clock disappearing—parting the helpless parents from their only child forever. “ _Luisa! LUISA! ___” She dashed forward to where the clock had once stood and collapsed to her knees hugging herself tightly, sobbing as if her heart would break. “She’s gone…s-she’s gone, and I d-did _nothing ___to stop it! I was _useless! ___”

“It’s not your fault—it’s not your _fault, ___Duck!” Fakir exclaimed desperately, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees, gathering her trembling form into his arms.

“I’ll never see her again!” Duck sobbed, clutching at the front of Fakir’s shirt, “Our baby—we’ll never get to hold her again!” Burying her face in his chest, every ounce of anguish within her overflowed and poured out of her as Fakir clutched her to him as tightly as he could—the sound of Duck’s tormented tears breaking his heart. “He’ll kill her, I _know ___he will!”

“…I’m so sorry, Duck,” Fakir finally said, Duck hearing his voice break and feeling his body shake with sobs against hers. “I tried to, I just—I didn’t know what to do—I just let that bastard run off with his prize!” Duck shuddered in his arms as another torrent of anguished sobs overtook her, Fakir never releasing his firm hold on her, his tear-soaked face buried in her hair.

_It’s true…I’m the one to blame, ___Fakir thought, stricken with grief. _My own daughter…my vulnerable infant child has to pay for my mistakes. And I couldn’t do a thing…_

I couldn’t do a damn thing… __

~

_Now tell me a story, my dear Luisa…Tell it to me with no regard for your life… ___


	2. Caged Swans: Fifteen Years Later

Chapter 2 – Caged Swans: Fifteen Years Later

“Wait, I know! The blue palette!”

“You must be joking; the lavender palette would be much more elegant.”

“Gold would really make those walls pop out when people come into the ballroom!”

“Gold?! Are you insane, Odette?! Gold walls—you don’t _get ___any tackier than that!”

“You’re both wrong, ‘cause we’re going with _blue! ___”

“Honestly Juliet, neither of us want—!”

“We need an outsider’s opinion! What do you think, James?!”

James jumped slightly at the sound of his name and sighed as his novel reading was interrupted once again—he was just getting to the good part, too. Marking the page and closing his leather-bound book, he gazed up at his younger sister Cosette with a withering look. The absolute last way he wanted to spend his afternoon was deciding on the ballroom’s color palette for his triplet sisters’ sixteenth birthday party. “Blue,” he said with barely a moment to think it over.

“Ha!” exclaimed Juliet, pointing a taunting finger at her sisters. “I always knew James loved me best.”

“I love all three of you equally,” James exhaled impatiently, brushing his feathery white hair back from his forehead as he opened his book again.

“Ugh, of course he’d go with blue—!” Odette groaned.

“—He is a _boy ___after all,” Cosette added in the girls’ typical fashion of completing eachother’s sentences.

“Look, this really isn’t my department,” James said, raising his hands in a neutral manner. “Why don’t you ask Mother, she’s usually good at—”

“Come on James, you _know ___Mother’s had her hands full ever since Father passed the new law about downsizing our troops,” Juliet whined. “Everyone’s scared now, so Mother’s helping to keep everyone calm. It’s all rubbish if you ask me.”

“Oh you’re just happy that _Frederick ___isn’t endangering himself on the front line anymore,” Cosette teased her, and she and Odette both laughed as Juliet’s face flushed pink.

“So what if I am?!” Juliet proclaimed, straightening herself up. “I love him and I’m going to marry him—soon as he proposes to me.”

“Well, aren’t _you ___a step ahead of all of us—” Odette said, rolling her eyes.

“—Even James, who’s turned down every single girl who’s thrown herself at his feet _begging ___him to take her!” Cosette shot over her shoulder to her older brother, who tried desperately to shut out his sisters’ incessant prattling. Sure, she was right, but did they have to keep bringing it up like that? The last girl was so vile, James could have sworn she was part witch, and that was two months ago. Since then, he had insisted on seeking out his future bride himself, and so far had no luck in all of the vastness of his parents’ kingdom.

Leaving his three sisters to their arguing, James got up from the shade of the tree he was under and wandered down by the pond to find a new, quieter, teenage girl-less place to read. Staring out at the water, he saw a gorgeous white swan glide downward and land on the rippling glassy surface. Moments later, the graceful bird was joined by an equally lovely black swan, and the two entwined their necks in a loving manner. James sighed deeply—everything seemed to remind him of how isolated he felt within the castle walls, within the confines of the glittering kingdom he had lived and grew up in his whole life. As a child, James was a prodigy at whatever his attempt was, be it schoolwork, piano, or ballet, the latter being his true passion. It seemed no matter what he did, he was naturally good at it—and this caused not only for him to gain an overly prideful view of himself, but also made many of his friends jealous and turn against him so he was left only with a few faithful companions. 

No, he was not popular; his sisters filled that aspect he was lacking, especially when almost the entire army was vying for the hand of any of the three charming princesses. The young ladies of the kingdom also fought desperately over James himself, if only to marry him because someday he would inherit the throne. The kingdom was a grand spectacle of landscape and soaring pointed towers, but James failed to see its beauty, failed to see its enormity when he constantly felt as though he were trapped within walls closing in on him from all sides…

“Mind if I join you?”

“Mother?” James asked in surprise as the pale, crimson-eyed reigning princess sat down beside her son, her raven-colored hair rippling with the breeze. “I thought you and Father were—”

“Even rulers need space to breathe sometimes,” Rue told him in slight exasperation. “Honestly, you’d think we were going to war tomorrow the way they carry on. But the pressure is part of the baggage that comes whenever your father makes a decision in that council—and while he does the paperwork, it falls to his princess to address the people.”

“Oh I know all about pressure,” James said with a smirk to his mother. “You know—all that pressure you and Father put on me to find a wife.”

“Oh James, don’t think of it as pressure,” Rue said, lightly tousling his white locks. “Think of it as enthusiastic encouragement.” She smiled at James’ eye roll, “We just want you to meet someone and be happy, just as we are.”

“I know,” James said, “It’s not that I don’t _want ___to get married, I _know ___I’m ready to assume the throne soon—!”

“Not _that ___soon,” Rue cut in, raising her eyebrows. “I think your father and I still have a _few ___good years left in us.”

“Right,” James chuckled, before his pensively sad expression returned. “I…just…”

“Haven’t found the right girl yet,” Rue finished for him, keeping her arm around his shoulders.

“It was easy for _you, ___” James said, shrugging her arm off. “When you were a _child, ___you knew you wanted to marry Father.”

“This is true, darling—but you know the circumstances I was under for all those years.” James looked up to see that his mother’s eyes were downcast. “I was raised taught that he was the only one for me, cursed under the Monster Raven until he, the Prince, was able to break me free—only after having experienced the pain of corruption himself.”

“I know, and that’s another thing that scares me…” James said, taking his mother’s hand. “About giving myself to another…” He couldn’t say it out loud, but for Rue he did not have to: the blood of the accursed Raven had somehow filtered into the veins of her only son—and as he grew older, and its poison spread farther, hardly a day went by that Rue’s heart didn’t break over this fact, the fact that her pure husband, his perfect kingdom, and now their child was forever tainted because of her and her foolishness of so long ago. James let go of her hand and quickly cast around for a change of subject as Rue turned her face away from him to hide a lone tear that had escaped down her cheek.

“What’s with the ducks?” James attempted casually, snickering at the little yellow waterfowls quacking noisily in the pond as they paddled by. “I mean, they don’t get on with the swans very well.”

“Your father has his reasons for keeping the ducks around,” Rue said, a weak smile passing her lips at the memory of the little yellow duckling who became a girl—without whom Rue might have never realized who she truly was and broken free of her Raven father’s constraints. And it was the memory of those constraints that caused her smile to vanish as quickly as it had come.

“Weird,” James shook his head as the ducks headed out to the pond. “Everyone has a place around here—everyone except me.”

“Well then, maybe your place doesn’t lie here,” Rue offered. “You’re a smart boy, James, but you can be so narrow-minded. Perhaps to find happiness, you need to broaden your horizons.” She took both his hands in hers and held them tightly, “And someday, you might find a girl who loves you for anything and _everything ___you are.” Leaning forward and kissing his forehead, she stood from her place in the grass, “I’d better return to your father.”

James watched his mother walk off in her usual calm and dignified manner, pondering her words as they echoed in his mind, _Broaden your horizons… ___

From afar, the princess appeared the picture of nobility, poised and regal as she strode back towards the castle. But up close, Rue’s face was twisted in anguish, weeping for her tainted son’s fate through her quivering lips.

_My poor child…what’s to become of you? ___the princess lamented, praying that once she’d reached the castle, the tears she no longer concealed, that rolled in swift torrents down her face would at last yield.

~

_Broaden your horizons… ___

It never left his mind, even long into the night as he lay wide awake in bed. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of it before? After all, he was eighteen and perfectly of age. Perhaps his fate _did ___lie outside the walls of the kingdom, far from the constraints of courtly orders, boring schoolwork, and ballroom parties. Perhaps the only way he was ever going to find true happiness was if he left and sought his fortune elsewhere.

James got up and went over to his mirror, picking up a comb and smoothing his wavy white hair down. He stared at his reflection for a few moments, looking into his own crimson eyes, the deep color of blood. Although she tried to hide it, James never missed the pain in his mother’s eyes whenever she was forced to remember her childhood, or lack thereof, being raised as the Raven’s daughter. The Prince: his father, and the Raven, the villain’s daughter: his mother, the knight who was slain, the Prince’s sacrifice by cutting out his heart to seal the Raven away, the graceful and wise Princess Tutu who gave his heart back so that he might love and fight the monster once again—yes, James and his sisters had heard the story countless times as children. 

The fact that the Raven’s blood had passed into James’ veins as well remained a secret between himself and his parents—the moments when the blood overtook him to do something unforgivable dismissed simply as a teenage phase to others. To this day, James had been able to control his seldom urges before he had hurt anyone, but would his control last the older he got? Would someone be able to love him despite this fact, just as his father loved his mother in this way? James moved away from the mirror and dressed himself properly, throwing on his traveling cloak as he saw the first rays of sunrise peeking over the horizon outside his window. It was a chance he would have to take. His mother had hidden for years the fact that Raven’s blood was coursing within her—perhaps James could do the same.

Leaving his chambers as quietly as possible, the young prince descended the stairs, passed through several dark corridors, and slipped past the sleeping guards before finally heading outside into the chilly night air. Upon reaching the stables, he found what he was looking for: the large swan-drawn carriage that carried his parents wherever they wished. Now it was James’ turn to discover where he truly belonged, and this resolve remained with him as he hoisted himself into the carriage and whipped the reins, forcing the swans to awaken and soar from the stable into the still inky blue sky. 

~

Luisa awoke suddenly from her deep slumber, panting slightly as she took in her surroundings to assure their familiarity. The single room that tripled as a living area, bedroom and dining facility, lavishly furnished with a grand bed with plush pillows, a comfortable chair and desk stood opposite a large bookcase filled with several leather-bound titles to keep her occupied, and in the corner a pristine sword she used to practice combat, should she ever have need of it. The girl sat up and brushed the sleep from her eyes, yawning loudly and wincing in pain as she realized once again that she was sitting on her hair. With a snort, she yanked the dark tresses out from under her and let them fall over the edge of the bed—hair that reached the floor and beyond, spreading itself across the surrounding area from the bed to the bookcase and even to the window, where Luisa felt her gaze travel next. 

Well, at least now she knew what had awakened her so suddenly, as she saw a bright flash of forked lightning pierce the sky followed by a sharp clap of thunder. Forced to live in a high tower her entire life under the watchful eye of her caregiver, Luisa used to be terrified of thunderstorms as a child, afraid that the lightning would hit her tower. Now, after fifteen years of countless nonfatal thunderstorms, Luisa just found them a nuisance when she was trying to get much needed rest. This time, however, the part of her that wasn’t annoyed that she had been awakened was grateful.

That dream, that same dream she had in frequent occurrences for as long as she could remember—a tall dark and handsome knight, a skilled swordsman battling a large, vicious Raven while a small yellow duck looked on in wonderment. It always ended the same way: the Raven picked up the defenseless knight in his vicious claws and held him at eye level, speaking in that voice, the exact voice that belonged to her wizened old caregiver, _“It is only natural for you to suffer such tragedy…” ___The knight screamed in pure agony as the Raven’s claws tore through him effortlessly, and the little duck quacked piercingly as she watched him fall, tears streaming from her eyes. And that was where it always ended every time, and every time Luisa was left more confused and frightened than ever. _Why ___did it frighten her so? When she had tried to piece together the events of the dream aloud, she had nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. She was certain her guardian who had given her nothing but the best over the years, despite keeping her isolated, was not secretly a raven. And the duck—why would a mere duck care so much about the fate of the knight? Who was she exactly, and why did her deep sapphire eyes eerily match Luisa’s own?

Resolved to the fact that she was never getting back to sleep now, Luisa flung back the covers and got up from the bed, careful not to tread on her trailing locks. Even the pattering of rain was just as loud as the claps of thunder overhead, rain that fell on the green countryside that was completely deserted apart from her tower—the tower her guardian had confined her to with no door or stairs, thus she could never get out, although he had assured her it was “for the best.” Who was she to argue, the old man treated her like a princess and nothing less her entire life. But she was fifteen now, and rapidly growing restless. Luisa was tired of reading about the world in books, she wanted to experience the world for herself in her own way. With no other companions, the old man was all she had to keep her company. Well, almost all…

“Good morning, zura!” 

Luisa gasped aloud and spun to face the grandfather clock against the wall, which opened to reveal the little girl puppet with green hair and a toy drum. 

“Oh, Uzura it’s you,” Luisa exhaled, watching with intense curiosity as Uzura stepped out of the clock and it shut behind her. That clock had always mystified her, how Herr Drosselmeyer and Uzura were able to somehow enter the tower from another location. She herself had tried many times to leave the tower through the clock the same way they came in, but it remained an ordinary clock for her rather than transforming into some sort of portal. 

“Sorry I scared you, zura,” Uzura apologized, picking up a brush from the vanity as Luisa sat down on the bed.

“Oh it’s alright, I was already awake anyway,” Luisa said with another yawn, fanning her hair out as best she could across the bed as Uzura began combing her way through it. “I’ve kept having this really strange dream.”

“What kind of dream, zura?” Uzura asked, moving the brush quickly through her silky dark hair as if trying to see how fast she could comb it.

“I can’t tell you, you’ll laugh,” Luisa said, rolling her eyes. “Even _I ___laugh whenever I speak it aloud.”

“Aw, come on, zura,” Uzura prodded with a beaming smile.

“Well, there’s always a handsome and brave knight fighting a Monster Raven, just like in here.” At this, Luisa picked up the most mysterious book of all the bindings on the shelves: _The Prince and the Raven ___, an unfinished story by none other than Drosselmeyer himself. Having read the book innumerable times over her childhood, Luisa was all too familiar with the passage about the knight who was torn in two by the Raven’s claws, without even landing the beast a single blow.

“Oh, so you were dreaming about the book, zura!” Uzura concluded with a triumphant wave of the brush.

“Well, sort of,” Luisa replied, wrinkling her nose. “The thing of it is, right before the knight is killed, the Raven holds him in his claws and says the same thing every time I dream it: _‘It is only natural for you to suffer such tragedy.’ ___For some reason, the Raven always sounds like Drosselmeyer—and even more strange is that there is always a duck present as well—”

At this, Luisa felt the tugging at her hair cease suddenly. Looking around, she saw Uzura gaping at her, wide-eyed, “Did you say a _duck, ___zura?”

“Yes…” Luisa trailed off, silence hanging in the air apart from the rumbling storm outside her window. “Why do y—”

She cut off with a gasp as a sudden crash was heard up on the roof of the tower. Luisa jumped up as she heard a strangled yell where the crash occurred and something sliding rapidly down the roof. “What the _hell? ___” Luisa wondered aloud as she pushed Uzura out of the way, just as the person whom the yell belonged to swung from the edge of the roof inside through the window, landing with a painful thud on the hard wood floor.

“It’s a boy, zura!” Uzura announced happily, apparently unaffected by the shocking events that had just taken place.

“Yeah I can see _that, ___Uzura,” Luisa panted under her breath, her heart still pounding fast against her chest. As she approached the sprawled figure cautiously, he groaned with the effort to try and sit up.

“Are you okay?” Luisa asked in a small voice. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” came the rough voice of the unexpected visitor, his eyes squeezed shut in pain as he finally managed to sit up. “No, I think I’ll live…”

“Good.” And with that, Luisa whipped her sword from its sheath and pinned the startled, rain-logged white-haired boy to the ground, the point of the blade hovering over his chest.

~

“Hey, what are you—?!” James began, but stopped short for two reasons: one, a very sharp sword nudging his chest threateningly, and two, the person wielding the sword. What started as a venture beyond the kingdom quickly became a struggle for his life as James’ carriage was tossed, lifted and dropped by the raging storm that had hit this particular area, culminating at last in him being tossed from the airborne coach, landing on the roof of a high tower, and somehow finding himself inside said tower. For a split second, James was grateful that he escaped death—but now he wondered if he’d spoken too soon. In any other instance, he would have taken up his own sword, even now strapped to his belt, and engaged the other party in combat. If the person were another man that is, but in this case…he was spellbound.

Meeting his gaze once he had the strength to open his eyes was the figure of what must have been some sort of sword-handling _angel. ___The girl who stood towering over his slumped figure was truly a vision: a delicate youthful beauty, though her face showed the fierceness of a lioness. In that split moment, James was able to take in every inch of her appearance: her smooth lightly-tanned skin, the curved sneer of her bright red lips, her shining jet black hair with hints of forest green highlights shown in the light from the lamp, and most of all her large clear blue eyes that seemed to root him to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from them.

“Just who are you?” the girl asked him sharply, bringing James roughly back to earth and into the clear and present danger he was now in. 

“I’m sorry, I truly didn’t mean to drop in on you like this,” James stammered, his gaze now moving between her intense stare and the blade at his chest. “You see, my carriage was—”

“Oh please, a good-looking man like you?” the dark-haired beauty scoffed, pushing the blade harder. “Who just happens to drop inside the residence of an innocent girl living _alone? ___”

“ _Innocent?! ___” James spluttered out, “In case you haven’t noticed, _you’re threatening me with a sword! ___”

“And you have five seconds to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat with it,” the girl hissed, her teeth bared—and James was suddenly reminded of the girl back in his kingdom he assumed to be part witch. At least _she ___had never threatened him like this.

“Please, I assure you I meant you no harm,” James pleaded as calmly as he could. “I swear, on my honor as a prince—!”

“A _what? ___” the girl blinked, her pressure on the blade easing up at last. “ _You’re ___a prince?”

“Yes,” James said, his breathing slowly becoming normal again.

“Prove it,” she challenged, but was surprised when he showed her the crest that adorned the sheath of his own sword, a crest she could have _sworn ___she’d seen somewhere before…

“Prince James, at your service, miss—”

“Oh don’t give me that, just get up,” she jeered, pulling back the sword and holding out her free hand, which James accepted with his most charming smile as she helped him up. “ _James ___, is it?”

“Indeed, Miss—er—”

“Luisa,” she responded curtly, sheathing the sword once again. “I have heard tell that you princes are always true to your word.”

“I promise I’m not here to harm you, Miss,” James repeated, holding up his bare hands. “In fact it’s an accident that I’m here at all.”

“So you decided to, erm, _fly ___in your carriage, got caught in the storm and somehow landed inside my tower,” Luisa pieced together with a furrowed brow.

“Basically, yes,” James replied as Luisa put her sword away, muttering things like ‘ _…going to be a bad day. ___’ “Where did you learn to handle a sword like that?”

“Lots of practice, especially when you’ve lived alone your entire life,” Luisa called back to him as she went behind the screen to retrieve a robe to cover her thin nightgown with. “Uzura tells me my father was an excellent swordsman himself, so I suppose it’s hereditary.”

“Uzura?” James asked puzzled, but his question was soon answered when the little puppet popped out from underneath the mountain of pillows on the bed, causing him to jump ten feet in the air.

“That’s me, zura!”

“Don’t worry, she’s harmless,” Luisa said, coming out from behind the screen while tying the sash around her waist. And it was then that James noticed that what he had mistaken for the black carpeting was _moving ___every time Luisa did, which led to the only obvious conclusion.

“Is that…?” James began, pointing to the curled ends lying on the floor, “Is _all ___of that…?”

“My hair, yes,” Luisa answered, as if having yards and yards of silky black hair was perfectly normal. “My guardian refuses to neither cut it nor let me cut it.”

“That’s a bit ridiculous of her, isn’t it?” James chortled, and Luisa shot him a dark look that silenced him.

“ _He ___tells me he has his reasons,” Luisa emphasized, glancing nervously at the wooden grandfather clock against the wall, “And if I were you, I’d leave very soon so as not to be here when he comes calling. He’s kind enough, but incredibly strict, and if he saw you here—” She cut off as she looked over at James, staring at her in that same odd way he had when she was threatening him. “ _Why ___are you doing that?!”

“Doing what?” James asked, his gaze shifting to his feet immediately.

“Staring at me like that!” Luisa exclaimed. “It makes me very uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” His voice faded as he glanced back up at her. The fierce look of the sword-wielding girl having left her face, James could now see how sweet and cherubic her face truly was, almost with a sort of innocent wonder about them. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Oh perfect, you’re one of _those ___princes,” Luisa said sarcastically, waving her hand in his direction, “The ones that say 'Oh I’m instantly drawn to you, let me whisk you away on my valiant steed—!’”

“No I’m not!” James defended, trying his best to hide the fact that this was almost exactly what _had ___crossed his mind at that moment. “I just—”

“You’d better leave,” Luisa said anxiously. “It’s nearly dawn and my guardian—”

“I understand,” James said, going back to the window and glancing down, where his battered carriage was waiting for him. Looking back over his shoulder, he asked, “May I see you again?”

“You’re _really ___pushing your luck, aren’t you?” Luisa said, her eyes narrowed.

“Just to give you some company,” James suggested. “When your guardian’s not around, I can come see you. And…well, who knows, maybe I’ll grow on you the way you seem to have grown on me—”

“Doubt it,” Luisa snorted.

“And perhaps someday, I can get you out of here.”

At this, Luisa’s heart fluttered briefly, hardly daring to believe what she’d just heard. The prospect of possibly leaving this accursed tower excited her more than she could say; the chance to live her life as freely as she chose. Resignedly, she turned to face him with a great sigh, “…Fine, he usually comes in the morning anyway, so you may come back sometime in the afternoon.”

“Thank you, fair maiden—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Understood.” James looked down the side of the tower warily, where his carriage stood waiting at the bottom. “How exactly do I get down from here?”

“You’re asking the girl who’s tried _fifteen years ___to answer that very question herself,” Luisa replied promptly.

James looked around for any sort of rope to use, before finally seeing his answer, “Your hair…”

“My _what? ___” Luisa took hold of one of her long locks, and shook her head, “Oh you have _got ___to be joking.”

“Please, it’s the only way,” James said, holding out his hand. Moving closer to the window, Luisa snatched up a large portion of her hair and flung it over the window sill, where it tumbled gracefully to the grass below. “There, now go— _gently ___, if you don’t mind.”

“Thank you again,” James said, and Luisa couldn’t help gazing upon his loving smile as he began to descend down to his carriage, leaving her once again confined to her secluded tower.


	3. Living, Or Merely Surviving

Chapter 3 – Living, Or Merely Surviving

“Uzura, your frequent visits to our young heroine’s tower concern me,” Drosselmeyer addressed the little puppet beside him. He sat comfortably in his armchair within the eerie limbo that was his personal gap in time, surrounded by large clock gears that slowly spun. 

“I dunno what you mean, zura,” Uzura responded, tapping her drum playfully with the two wooden sticks as she sat next to the dead man, where she had been confined to staying for the past fifteen years.

“You haven’t… _mentioned ___anything to her, have you?” Drosselmeyer asked slowly, leaning over to peer closer into Uzura’s face, to which she looked back at him blankly.

“Mentioned, zura?” Uzura asked confusedly. “I don’t get it, zura.”

“Good,” Drosselmeyer said, getting up from the chair and striding towards the edge of the clock gear he stood on. With a short leap, he plunged down to the floor of the clock world, Uzura following behind him. “I can’t have you getting involved with young Luisa’s inquisitiveness. She’s at that _wretched ___age now—always trying to seek the truth and break free from the bondage of childhood.”

He and Uzura finally found what they were looking for: the portal to reality in the form of a grandfather clock. The deceased storyteller recalled using it years ago to call upon the little duck to play the role of Princess Tutu, and the disastrous results that had come of _that. ___No, he was not about to let this girl slip from his control as her mother and father had, and that meant keeping an eye on Uzura as well.

“Luisa’s edition of _The Prince and the Raven ___is unfinished— _my ___work before those men brought about my undoing,” Drosselmeyer began, turning around and looking down at Uzura. “She must never know the conclusion of that story…and _especially ___must never know that the weaver of its grand finale was her own father. I broke off your contact with the duck and her knight shortly after I took Luisa for my own, Uzura. So as far as we are all concerned, you are to reveal _nothing ___of her parents’ involvement in my story, is that clear?”

“Crystal, zura,” Uzura mumbled in a tight, submissive tone. Drosselmeyer seemed satisfied as he opened the door and stepped through, stepping onto the wood floor of Luisa’s chamber. He saw Luisa sitting on the bed fiddling with her hair, her head jerking upright as the room was bathed in the wash of a soft white glow—time had stopped, and her guardian had come to her again.

“My dear Luisa,” the dead man drawled, as Luisa swiveled around on the bed to face him.

“Herr Drosselmeyer,” she said with a smile and a slight bow. “I hope you’re well.”

“As well as a two hundred year old man _can ___be, I suppose,” Drosselmeyer responded, striding into the room. Stepping carefully over Luisa’s hair, he moved closer to where she sat on the bed. “ _The Prince and the Raven ___again?”

Luisa glanced down at the book she hadn’t realized was still in her lap, and shoved it out of sight under her pillow, “Well, it just makes me think is all.”

“A story without its ending leaves you free to imagine whatever you wish it to be, child,” Drosselmeyer said, reaching out a skeletal gloved hand to stroke the top of Luisa’s head—to which a slight shiver ran up the girl’s spine. “Not everything in life needs a definite answer or an absolute truth.”

“Such as why you keep me here when you know how much I long to leave?” Luisa asked softly, staring at her hands in her lap. Drosselmeyer’s hand stiffened a bit on top of her head before pulling away and sitting on the bed next to her, surveying his lovely ward’s discontented features.

“Precisely,” he responded. “There is nothing out there for you, my Luisa. Your parents mercilessly abandoned you, so you’ve no family, and no friends to speak of. Everything you could ever possibly need I have always provided for you, haven’t I?”

“Of course, it’s not that I’m ungrateful to you,” Luisa said, looking up into the wild sunken eyes that still caught her by surprise each time she glanced at them. “I’m just restless I suppose and want a good reason to leave here. I just…haven’t been able to figure out what that reason is.”

“You don’t need a reason,” Drosselmeyer spoke in a low rumble, peering closely at her as Luisa’s gaze moved back to her hands fidgeting in her lap. “And you will never have need to leave here…”

All the while, Uzura watched this exchange from a corner of the room, not uttering a single word—even though she knew in her heart that the old man’s deception towards her companion was wrong.

~

“I’ve _found ___her!”

“James, thank heavens your safe!” Rue cried out when her son burst through the door of the Prince’s study, where she and her husband were sitting anxiously. “You disappeared late last night and—oh darling, we were so worried about you,” the Princess exclaimed, embracing James tightly.

“What on earth possessed you to venture beyond the palace alone?” Prince Siegfried asked calmly with a frown. “And who exactly have you found?”

“Mytho, don’t be cross,” Rue said to him in an undertone before turning back to hear James’ response.

“I think I’ve found the girl I want to marry,” James answered, the smile never leaving his face. Quickly, he related his encounter with Luisa after getting caught up in the storm. “She’s strong and beautiful, and _resourceful ___fending for herself for so long—”

“A girl living alone in a tall tower, with only a window and no way out?” Mytho said slowly, making sure he’d understood his son.

“James, are you certain this is the right way to go about finding your princess?” Rue asked. “A girl from a distant land you don’t even know?”

“Well sure I don’t know her _now, ___but I will know her,” James said, making for the doorway. “I felt this connection when I first laid eyes on her—as if Luisa and I were destined for eachother. I plan to visit her again tomorrow, and the next day, and however long it takes before I’m certain she will have me!”

“James, just think rationally about this for a moment—”

“Trust me Father, I know what I’m doing!” James said exasperatedly. “I’m of age now, and you promised that once I was you’d let me choose my bride myself!” The urge, that same urge that always surfaced whenever he became so angry…he turned to leave before he did something he’d regret. 

“James!” Rue called after him, but the young prince was already out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Running a hand through her dark brown hair, she turned wearily to her husband, “ _Now ___what are we supposed to do?”

“Nothing, he’s right,” Mytho replied, sitting back down in his chair and leaning against the back. “He is of age…but come now Rue, he’s certain he wants to marry this girl upon _just ___meeting her?”

“He said he felt as if they were _destined ___to be together,” Rue repeated, sitting beside him. “And we know how swift and decisive the hand of destiny can be.”

“I just don’t want him falling for…some sort of vision,” Mytho sighed deeply. “Someone he can never have, as I fell for Princess Tutu’s grace and kindness the moment I first laid eyes on _her. ___”

Rue remained silent for a moment, then took Mytho’s hand and held it in hers. “If James truly loves her, and she him, then fate will work out for the best. But if what you fear is true, and a vision turns out to be the case—then he will learn from his mistakes. It’s that simple.”

Mytho squeezed his princess’ hand assuredly, his gaze traveling to the window where he gazed out at the castle grounds. With all his heart, he prayed that whatever his son chose, he would not rush into his decision and endanger his own better judgment of the outside world. And this girl…when she did learn _everything ___about James, would she still want to remain with him?

~

“Thank you very much, Autor, we really appreciate this,” Duck said as she led her husband’s publisher to the front door. 

Autor hitched up Fakir’s latest thick manuscript in his arms before turning to face Duck, “As long as he keeps his mind on his work and continues to write for Gold Crown’s sake, I’m here to serve.” 

“Oh well, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Duck said with a wave of her hand. “Writing is one of his truest passions, his greatest loves. Right up there with dancing and---” She stopped and blushed bright red, “—and, well erm—”

“If it weren’t for _you, ___Fakir probably wouldn’t have found the power within him to spin stories in the first place,” Autor finished for her, pushing his glasses up his nose in a businesslike way. For some reason though, he couldn’t help smiling back at her as she beamed up at him. This girl who had started out as nothing more than a duck-like nuisance to him—well she _was ___a duck, after all—had grown into a rather delightful woman. The bookish man found it easy to converse with her whenever Fakir was cooped up at his desk when he stopped by. Despite everything she had been through, Duck was still so cheerful and friendly with everyone she met—and for that, he greatly admired her.

Duck smiled as what Autor had said touched her, folding her arms in front of her chest, “You know there was a time I thought we’d never get along?”

“I seem to recall that time,” Autor said in mock thought, then shook his head, “What on earth did that proud grumbler Fakir do to deserve a girl like you?”

“I just accept him for everything he is, good and bad,” Duck responded simply, her eyes misting over. “Besides, you’re _just ___as proud.”

“Touché,” Autor nodded with a chuckle, then opened the front door, “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Thanks again!” Duck called out, waving as he walked down the path into town, then closed the door behind him. She looked over at the closed door of her husband’s study and her smile faded instantly, _Please stop, Fakir…stop torturing yourself like this every time you complete a story. ___Hearing the familiar scratching of the duck’s feather quill, Duck sighed as she sat down to take up her embroidery once more.

Another story completed, Fakir opened up the desk drawer to his right and pulled out a different manuscript, the edges of the parchment yellowed with age. This was a story he had begun, left alone, taken up again, written entire passages only to cross them out, and all around struggled through for the past fifteen years. No one knew of this story except himself and Duck—a story in an attempt to bring their only daughter back from Drosselmeyer’s world, wherever the sadistic fossil was hiding her. After all this time, however, his resolve was waning thin…

“Ow,” came Duck’s voice from the other side of the door. Fakir rolled his eyes—needlepoint again. Why did his wife insist on coming up with the most mundane activities to amuse herself with, let alone one she was really awful at? It was like watching her attempt to dance at the Academy all over again. With a sigh, Fakir stared down at the manuscript, dipped his quill in the inkpot and wrote out a sentence…

“Ouch, that hurt!” cried Duck, sticking herself with the needle again, and Fakir crossed out the sentence he’d just written in exasperation. Was this the end of the line? Now in his mid-thirties, was this the limit to which his story-spinning abilities would reach?

“Oww,” Duck whined again. Fakir closed his eyes, willing himself to stay calm. Could their beloved Luisa possibly be dead? Was _that ___why he couldn’t bring her back? Or did Drosselmeyer construct the tale in such a way that Fakir couldn’t save her? After all these years, were they doomed to a long continuous nightmare of suffering that they just couldn’t wake up from?

“ _Ouch! ___”

“ _Enough! ___” Fakir roared, jumping up so suddenly from the chair that it toppled over. Banging open the door, he strode right past where Duck was sitting, staring at him in shock, to the fireplace. Holding the aged manuscript in his trembling hands, Fakir let it hover over the flickering flames for a few moments, before—

“Fakir, _no! ___” Duck shouted, but it was too late as the pages landed inside the flames and curled into charred ashes within minutes. Fakir simply stood in front of the flames, panting as if he’d just run a great distance, his back turned to Duck, who stood and watched the story reduce to nothingness in the fireplace. “So—so that’s it?” she said after a period of silence, tears evident in her voice.

“There is nothing else than can be done,” Fakir whispered, refusing to face her. “I’ve reached my limit, Duck. I…I can’t bring Luisa back to us.”

“You’re wrong,” Duck said, shaking her head. “No, _you’re wrong ___, Fakir! You’re a great spinner of stories, you have no limits! You—you’ve just given up, that’s all!” He could hear her, the thirteen-year-old girl berating him again, and Fakir wanted so badly to shut her out. “And you _can’t ___give up—you can’t quit, _you complete IDIOT! ___”

“Duck!” Fakir cried, at last whirling around to face her. But Duck had already torn from the room and was pounding up the stairs by the time Fakir started after her. Hearing the bedroom door slam, he flew up the stairs two at a time before coming to the door and opening it. 

For a moment he stood silently in the doorway, watching Duck hold up a pink baby’s garment. Squeezing her eyes shut, her face crumpled as she clutched the garment to her chest and cried softly, and Fakir’s heart ached so terribly that he felt it would overflow with despair—despair for Duck, despair for the life they had wanted together and to this day could never achieve, despair in thinking that what Drosselmeyer had said was true: Princess Tutu and the Knight had defied their fates, and now bore the punishment for their deeds.

Walking slowly towards her, Fakir sat down beside her on the bed, Duck’s back now turned to him as if she did not want him to see her like this. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch her shoulder, and when she did not shrug him off Fakir wrapped both arms around her, embracing Duck gently from behind.

“I’m sorry…” Duck choked out, still overcome by tears. “I shouldn’t have—have said all those things to you. It’s just—part of me believes that she’s really gone, but—but there’s still that one hopeful part deep inside that—wants so much to believe—”

“ _Shh… ___,” Fakir breathed into her ear, resting his head against her shoulder. “I never wished, never _dreamed ___that you would be put through so much, Duck. Losing our daughter, and then when we tried to start again—” His voice caught in his throat as the painful memories flooded back. Three years after Drosselmeyer had taken Luisa, Duck was with child once more, and they both saw this as a second chance at the opportunity they’d missed to raise a proper family. Fate dealt its hand, however, and the blessing became a curse. How could either of them have foreseen the chance snatched out from under them, the child’s life ending before it had even begun? How could destiny be so cruel as to bring Duck’s happiness to a grinding halt? The miscarriage prevented her from bearing any more children, and Fakir would never forget holding Duck like a child in his arms as they both sobbed long into the night—much like now, as he tried so desperately to remain strong for her. “It’s my fault…my _entire ___fault.”

“Wh-what?” Duck asked, raising her head for the first time in several moments.

“I should never have interfered,” Fakir went on, closing his eyes in anguish. “I…I should have just let you remain a duck. I should just…set you free.”

“Fakir, what are you talking about?” Duck turned around to face him, and his heart jolted once again seeing the gleaming tear tracks on her cheeks. He got up and knelt in front of her next to the bed, holding both of her hands in her lap, staring up into her childlike angelic face.

“I’ve brought you nothing but tragedy, Duck,” Fakir began softly. “My existence in your life has caused you nothing but pain, and you don’t deserve that—you’re the last person on this earth to ever deserve so much suffering. How can you possibly stay with me, how can you love someone like me when I haven’t even had the ability to give you the life you deserve?! It’s been nearly twenty years since you set this town free and earned your right to live happily…” Fakir gripped her hands so tightly now Duck feared her fingers might break, “…and I thought that by making you a human girl again, you could achieve that happiness with me, but I was so wrong.” He pressed his forehead against their clasped hands as he began to sob, Duck watched him silently as tears leaked steadily from her eyes. “I can’t protect you from the darkness of the world, Duck. I’ve never been able to, so just _leave. ___Leave before I cut you so deeply, even that sweet joyful girl I fell in love with vanishes forever.”

“Stop,” Duck said in a hushed voice as Fakir stooped before her, his head in her lap, weeping as he hadn’t for so long. Extracting one of her hands from his grip, she ran her fingers gently through his hair. “Just stop it, don’t talk like that. I could never leave you Fakir, I _love ___you.”

“How?” Fakir asked her desperately in a thick voice, “How can you—?”

“’Cause you’re my knight, Fakir,” Duck answered. “Since the very beginning, you’ve given me strength: The strength to finish Mytho’s story, the strength to accept myself for who I am—the strength to go on, no matter how much life has weakened me and left me without any hope.” She leaned down and planted a kiss on top of his head, “I could never have made it this far without you, because you _are ___my strength. You loved me enough to use your power to let me live as a human girl— _with you. ___The very least I could do…was give my heart to you. Because _you ___deserve even more than that.”

Fakir kissed her hand in his, then stood and pulled Duck into his arms to kiss her full on the lips. “In that moment,” he whispered as he pulled back, “you sounded exactly like Princess Tutu.”

“Thank you,” Duck said with a smile, pecking his lips again before her face became serious. “I believe that Luisa could still be out there somewhere…what about you?”

“I don’t know, Duck,” Fakir said solemnly, then managed the merest faint of a smile, “but how can we abandon hope when it’s remained with us for all this time?”

~

“Luisa! Let down your hair for me!”

Luisa peered over the edge of the windowsill, staring down at her handsome white-haired visitor with a smirk, “Only if you brought food this time.”

James held up a picnic basket and blanket with a proud grin, “I’m a man of my word!”

“Permission granted,” Luisa called back as her long dark hair, conveniently braided for him, came tumbling down and landed at his feet. Bracing her own end of the braid, she still couldn’t help crying out in pain a few times as James ascended to reach the tower—one would have thought she’d be used to its pressure after several weeks of James’ visits. “Did you hide your carriage in the forest—?”

“—to avoid suspicion, yes _Mother, ___” James rolled his eyes, panting as he climbed over the windowsill and landed clumsily inside the room.

“Look, I’m just making sure,” Luisa said with a hard knowing look, yanking her hair back inside, “The consequences if we’re caught could be disastrous for both of us.” Taking the picnic basket from him, she surveyed the food inside before turning to beam at him, “Aw, did you do this all by _yourself? ___”

“Oh be quiet,” James scoffed as Luisa laughed, spreading out the blanket on the hard wood floor. “Just because I’m a prince doesn’t mean I don’t have any life experience.”

“Oh yes, fixing sandwiches with jam and lemonade would most _definitely ___qualify as ‘life experience,’” Luisa teased, setting up two places for them and spreading the food out before her. _Good lord…am I flirting with him? ___She shook her head to clear the thought from her mind, for Luisa had no plans to get involved with James any further than as acquaintances. As far as she was concerned, the prince was her one-way ticket away from this tower forever and nothing more.

“Here, let me stir the jam a bit,” James offered as she made to open the jar. Luisa’s breath caught in her throat as the young man reached his arms around her from behind and took the jam jar from her, his large hands covering hers. Opening the lid, he stirred the contents inside with a spoon, but all Luisa could focus on was this sudden closeness to James that she had never really experienced before. Never had she realized James’ sweet scent as she breathed it in, his feathery white hair brushing lightly against her cheek, his hands warm and assuring in hers— _Stop thinking like that, ___Luisa sharply scolded herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight and eternally thankful when James at last pulled back to seat himself next to her.

“So, where’s Uzura today?” James asked.

“She went back with Drosselmeyer earlier this morning,” Luisa replied between bites of her sandwich. “Come to think of it, she hasn’t been around as frequently as usual in the past few weeks.”

“Maybe she feels awkward with me being here,” James suggested, taking a long swig of lemonade.

“Uzura? _Awkward? ___” Luisa chuckled. “This is the girl who runs around the tower singing at the top of her voice while waving my brassiere in the air.”

“And of course I just _happened ___to come in at that exact moment,” James added with a laugh.

“Most embarrassing day of my life,” Luisa smiled, shaking her head.

“Oh, I can’t _tell ___you how many times my sisters have humiliated me in front of the entire court,” James groaned. “No wonder I’ve had so much trouble being taken seriously by the noblemen.”

“I’d expect it’d be difficult to function with _triplets ___on your back,” Luisa said, sipping her lemonade thoughtfully. “I’d give anything to have _parents ___, let alone siblings.”

“Did Drosselmeyer know them?” James asked, shifting a bit closer to her.

“My parents? Oh yes he did, and Uzura did as well,” Luisa answered. “But they abandoned me as a baby and Drosselmeyer raised me as his own after that. I don’t know much about them, except my father was a swordsman and my mother a rather clumsy dancer. I don’t even know if they’re still alive—but that’s one of the things I plan to get to the bottom of once I’m free from here.”

“That’s admirable of you,” James remarked, his hand brushing ever so lightly against hers and Luisa felt her heart quiver once again. “Once I have freed you from this place…I’ll do whatever I can to help you achieve those dreams, Luisa.”

“Thank you,” Luisa said quietly, gently shifting her hand away from James’ tempting grasp. Straightening herself up, she cleared her throat loudly, “Well, um, thank you for the lunch by the way, it was delicious.”

“Anytime,” James smiled. As he made to put the dishes and cups back in the basket, Luisa’s eyes fell on the thick, leather-bound book James’ had also brought with him. The sinister, elaborate art on the cover was one she was all too familiar with. 

“Is that _The Prince and the Raven ___?”

James looked around to see Luisa holding up the royal purple title he had dropped just under the windowsill when he toppled inside. “Yes, I brought it along for a bit of light reading on my journey here.”

“Idiot, you know I have my own copy right here if you wanted to look at it,” Luisa grinned, tossing him an identical copy from her vast bookshelf. James glanced down at her book, a bit more worn around the edges than his own, before tossing it down on the floor beside his where both books lay forgotten.

“So, I provided the food, now you have to provide the entertainment,” James announced to her, shaking out the picnic blanket and folding it back up.

“All I have are books and a player piano, if you can call that entertainment,” Luisa said, going over to the device set in the corner. Cranking the handle on the player, a haunting melody stirred from within and slowly filled the room.

“Ah, _Swan Lake ___,” James sighed happily, kicking off his shoes. Rising to a first position in his stocking feet, he closed his eyes contentedly, “I feel like I haven’t danced in _ages… ___” Luisa sat down on the edge of her bed and watched James move gracefully along the floor in time with the music. In the past several weeks James had been spending time with Luisa, she really had not thought much of him. Sure he was handsome with deep crimson eyes and a captivating glowing smile, but that was pretty much where his appeal ended. He was rather full of himself, playing the “I’m a prince” card ever chance he got when she reprimanded him, and the first few weeks basically consisted of James rambling off his various accomplishments while she stared at him with vacant, uninterested eyes. No, there was know doubt in Luisa’s mind that he was attempting to court her further with each visit, but she had held her guard and never let her resistance waver. Until…

The music swelled and James leapt elegantly from stance to stance, as if the music were pouring out from within him. Any doubts Luisa had of James being anything more than a pretty face were fading from her mind as she followed him across the floor. Every ounce of James’ inner beauty, his passion, all of his feelings were on display in full view of her now, nothing in his dance forced or technical. Was _this ___truly who Prince James was, all the rest of it being a disguise he wore to hide his insecurities, his faults? Luisa still wasn’t certain…but felt now that she was getting warmer.

James remained still in his final pose, on one knee, his arms hugging himself as the piece ended and a new one started up. Getting up from his position, he walked over to where Luisa sat watching him, and extended his hand to her. “Luisa…”

“I’m really bad at this, James,” Luisa muttered, accepting his hand and let him guide her towards the center of the floor, tripping over her braid as she went, “My hair—”

“Don’t worry about your hair, just let me lead you,” James said in a hushed, reassuring tone. With one of his arms guiding her by the waist, the other hand holding hers close to his chest, Luisa closed her eyes and felt as if she were floating through space and time; the music and James’ slow even breathing the only sounds in the entire world. She stumbled over his feet and her own once or twice, but James didn’t seem to care, for it only brought her closer to him. Faster and smoother they spun across the small area, Luisa following her skilled partner’s lead as he pulled her along, until finally the piece reached its end. 

Luisa opened her eyes slowly, and realized she was leaning against James’ chest. With a pink blush in her cheeks, she made to pull back from him, “That was lovely, I—I never thought I’d be able to dance like that.”

“Not nearly as bad as you were making yourself out to be,” James whispered, holding her firmly around the waist, preventing her from pulling away any further. “You have beautiful wings, but you’ve been trapped too long…and need a chance to spread them.”

“You’re a beautiful person too, James,” Luisa said quietly, gazing up into his eyes. “Don’t hide that person behind that arrogant, pompous mask of yours. That person dancing right now is who you _really ___are—and I like that boy.”

James smiled at hearing her confidence in him, bringing his hand up to rest in her thick dark hair, so close now that he could feel her sweet breath on his face, “Luisa?”

“Y—yes?” Luisa asked, the tip of his nose nudging hers, feeling his fingers travel down to cup her neck in his hand. And before she could stop him, or James could stop himself, his soft moist lips parted slightly and met her own in a slightly hesitant, but all intentionally pure kiss…


	4. Shadows of Threats

Chapter 4 – Shadows of Threats

It was a moment, only a moment, but it was all it took. James’ lips made a soft puckering sound as they pulled away from Luisa’s, his eyes opening slowly to reveal the contentment that resided within his crimson irises. Looking down at Luisa, he fully expected to see that same happiness mirrored back at him. 

“Luisa…”

“What was that for?” Luisa’s voice pierced through James’ haze of emotions and he was brought back to earth with a resounding crash. Her tone was not breathless with the hint of a smile as his was—but rather skeptical, accusatory, and was it possible…a little afraid? He looked down to see her staring back at him as if he had slapped her instead of kissed her.

“What was—what—?”

“Why did you kiss me like that?” Luisa asked louder, her voice angry as it was the first time he had met her, yet her eyes still conveyed that fear.

“I love you, Luisa,” James breathed out. It was simple, it was the God-honest truth and he meant it from the bottom of his heart—and still Luisa looked at him as if he’d dealt her a death blow.

“No,” Luisa whispered, struggling to pull away from him.

“Yes,” James spoke with determination, holding her firmly against him as she tried to pry herself free. “I can’t deny this anymore; I can’t pretend anymore that I didn’t have feelings for you the moment I—”

“ _No! ___” Luisa screamed out, finally shoving James back against the stone wall of the tower, panting heavily. “No, it—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this—”

James stared at her quizzically, wondering what on earth had made her lash out at him like this, “Luisa, what are you—?”

“All I wanted to do was get out of here, leave this tower for good,” Luisa murmured in a quiet panic, yanking up her hair as she paced the floor. “And now you say that you—no, this wasn’t part of the deal!”

“What _deal? ___” James asked, moving closer to her, to which she continued to back up from him.

“You can’t, James…”

“What can’t I--?”

“ _You can’t love me, James! ___”

“Why not?!” James yelled over her, barely resisting the urge to grab her and hold her tightly so she couldn’t back away any further—it pained him to see her do so.

“Because—because—!” Luisa covered her face with her hands and took several deep breaths, then took her hands away and saw James looking at her in _that ___way again. The moment had arrived, the truth she had sworn she would never reveal to him was on the tip of her tongue—and the earnest expression in his questioning features made it impossible for her to back out. “Because…I don’t love you.”

Now James stared at her as if she had slapped him, “ _What? ___”

“James, you’re a kind, warm, sensitive man—and you’ve been so good to me these past couple of months,” She came closer to him now, “But I don’t want your love. I just want my freedom…and I knew that through your generosity I could achieve that independence, because that’s what I want James, _independence. ___”

“And you don’t think I can give you that as well?” James said in a tight voice.

“Not if you love me, not if I must give myself to you,” Luisa shook her head, the pain in his eyes forcing her to swallow back tears. “I need to discover who _I ___am before I can ever hope to let myself fall in love. How can someone else love me if I don’t even know how to love myself?”

“So…the only reason you needed me…the only reason you’ve kept me around is so I could get you out of this damned _tower?! ___” James’ felt the sudden anger seize him, the pain of unrequited love coursing through his veins. “You took full advantage of me…”

“I admit, it started out that way,” Luisa nodded, her hands clutched at her chest. “But now, especially today James, I couldn’t help noticing how—”

“You used me, _you used me! ___” James shouted out, now pacing the room himself. “I can’t believe I let myself be fooled!” That rage, that familiar rage…he couldn’t lose control now…

“James, I value the friendship we have, I really do—!”

“ _Friendship?! ___I opened my heart up to you, Luisa!”

“I’m sorry, this should never have happened!”

“But it has,” James panted, staring at her, and Luisa was frightened to see that his eyes had grown pink and hazy. “And now you’ve told me the truth…you little harlot who uses people for her own advances!”

“James, that’s not it—!” She gasped as James seized her wrist tightly.

“You say you’re incapable of loving me—” James growled, throwing Luisa to the floor on top of piles of her hair.

“What are you doing?!” she screamed as James unsheathed his sword, “Please James, this isn’t like you!”

“Then if I cannot love you… _no one will. ___”

“James, _stop it! ___” Desperately, she grabbed her own sword from the corner—and with a split second to spare, blocked James sword with hers, lying on her back on the floor with James bearing down directly over her. With his violent attempt intervened, James began to come to himself as he struggled to fight down the urge of the accursed Raven’s blood. Staring into Luisa’s pale, utterly terrified expression, he whipped his sword away from her, still sneering into her face.

“Well you can forget it, forget all of it,” James hissed. “You’re never getting out of this place because from this moment on I _refuse ___to be a part of it. I could have forgiven you for not loving me, but I can _never ___forgive you for using me. Understand me, you wretch?”

Luisa stared up into the prince’s merciless face as he pinned her on her back, gulping for air as tears of fright and bitter disappointment cascaded from her eyes down into her hair. “I understand—why you feel that way…I’m so sorry, James…”

James stumbled backward towards the window, calling for his carriage. As it soared into view, he climbed inside without a word and with a whip of the reins, flew off into the late afternoon sky. It was a moment before Luisa realized she was still clutching her sword, and she flung it aside. Still lying on the cold hard floor, she rolled over and buried her face in her massive amount of hair. Luisa couldn’t remember the last time she had ever really cried, resolved to not prone herself to weakness while surviving in this world alone—but at that moment, she let go and wept like the trapped girl she still was, and now forever would be.

Higher and higher the carriage rose, James clutching his head and grunting in pain as he battled down the Raven’s blood that had consumed him, the blood he had inherited from his parents, the blood that had ridiculed, abused, and nearly killed the only girl he ever loved. _My God, what have I done to her…? ___

~

It was late, nearing midnight, but James didn’t care in the least. He had to see Luisa again and tell her that there was no excuse for his actions earlier that day. True, he was still wounded that she had meant to use him as an escape route—and the fact that she did not love him in return cut him even deeper still. But to attack her in that way was intolerable. How… _how ___could he have let himself be consumed so easily? The accursed Raven his father had defeated years ago, the blood of whom still resided within him… _Luisa, please forgive me…I do love you so… ___

As the carriage arrived at the tower, a looming and foreboding presence against the deep blue sky, it lowered down to the window. James could see her, sitting on the window seat against the sill, her chin resting in her hand as she stared not out the window, but at the adjacent wall blankly. Pulling on the reins to cease the swans’ flight, James leapt out of the carriage and through the stone window, to which Luisa nearly fell off the seat upon seeing him.

“James!”

“Luisa, please don’t be frightened. What happened this afternoon was—” James stopped and inhaled sharply once he could see Luisa face to face, and she stared at the floor to avoid his gaze. She had been crying—a _lot. ___Her red swollen eyes suggested she had been for hours since his departure, but how could he blame her? James himself had had to excuse himself from dinner that evening to privately shed tears of remorse over what he’d done. “Oh Luisa…”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about everything,” Luisa said in a cracked voice, her breath hitching up from crying so long.

“What on earth could you possibly have to apologize for?” James asked in shock, sitting down across from her on the cushioned window seat. “I was the one who lashed out at you in that despicable fashion—”

“—because I used you, and that was wrong of me,” Luisa continued, twisting a large piece of her hair tightly in her hands nervously. “Until I met you, my only desire was to get out of here and live my life no matter what the cost and no matter how I had to go about doing it. I didn’t fall in love with you at first sight, James. Despite all the stories I’ve read, I’ve never believed in such things—and the truth is when you told me today that _you ___had, I got scared!”

“I admit, I was hurt when you told me you had used me—and I still am,” James lowered his head and swallowed hard, and Luisa felt like crying again, if it were possible that she had any more tears left in her that is. He reached out a hand to her, and she hesitated before taking it gingerly as if it would burn her once she touched it. “Luisa…I have the Raven’s blood within me.”

“What?” Luisa breathed, her brow furrowing. “You can’t possibly mean what I _think ___you—”

“The Prince from the tale _The Prince and the Raven ___…is my father.”

“My goodness…” Luisa pressed a hand to her heart, as if a missing puzzle piece had clunked into place. It made sense now—the crest upon his sword sheath. She had recognized it from the illustration in Drosselmeyer’s story. “James, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid…afraid that once you knew, you would reject me,” James replied, and the grip of her hand in his grew stronger, more assuring. “But before my father could defeat the Raven, he was consumed with his blood—due to my mother, corrupted from her birth.”

“So your mother is—”

“—the Raven Princess, yes,” James nodded, squeezing her hand tighter. “The pain of having that corruption within you is so dangerous. The longer it resides with you, the harder it becomes to control it and before you know it…you’ve nearly hurt someone you care about more than anything else in this world.” His eyes remained locked onto hers, and Luisa immediately knew just who that someone was. “I feared your refusal of my affections if you knew, Luisa…but since I cannot hope to attain your love now, I had nothing left to lose by telling you.”

“James, when I said that I didn’t love you, I…” Luisa trailed off, and abruptly returned to staring at the floor again—once she had seen the hope flood into James’ eyes. “The very thought of it—er, what I mean is—after you left, I did a lot of thinking over what I had told you and I realized that—”

“Luisa…” James wrapped his arms around her and pulled her so close to him, their faces mere inches apart. Once he was assured she was not going to pull away, he whispered, “Before you say another word…I _dare ___you to tell me to my face that you didn’t feel anything in that kiss.”

He waited for her to look directly into his eyes, to break his heart once again, this time irreparably. But Luisa did not look at him, in fact she deliberately fixed her gaze on a point just over his shoulder, her breathing becoming more shallow the longer she remained silent. And finally, James watched a single tear form, glitter in her red-rimmed eye before it dripped onto his shirt—and the prince had his answer. “If you feel something so strongly Luisa, don’t fight it…but _give into it. ___”

“It’s painful,” Luisa whispered, stunned that she had any tears left to cry. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to get hurt _by ___you.”

“Even if we ever do hurt eachother, I will never, _ever ___attack you again… _my Luisa, ___” James whispered gently. Flinging herself forward, Luisa threw herself into James’ embrace, burying her face in his shoulder as she dug her nails into his back, her whole body shaking with quiet sobs as James held her tightly. He waited silently while she calmed herself, stroking her lengthy black hair without a word until she pulled back and looked up into his eyes, warm and crimson once again.

“I love you…it’s true, I _love you, ___James—” Speech left her completely as James pulled her back towards him, crushing his lips fiercely against hers, neither of them able to contain themselves any longer. Luisa kissed her prince harder, her lips working with his until the force had knocked him onto his back on the seat, her on top of him. She opened her eyes and smiled down at him, which he returned.

“Come with me…” James stood and lifted Luisa up into his arms princess style. Carrying her over to her bed, he set her down lightly before climbing in with her. For a moment, Luisa was alarmed—James had wanted nothing to do with her ever again only a few hours ago and _now ___—they both rolled onto their sides so they were facing eachother. James brought his hand up to stroke the side of her face, his loving gaze penetrating her large blue eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Luisa answered softly. “But why are you--?” Once again she was cut off by his lips kissing her harder, deeper and more passionately than ever before, all of their feelings and senses melding into eachother as if becoming permanently intertwined. Within moments, James was on top of her, his lips traveling down to her neck and she gasped.

James pulled back abruptly, his shirt halfway undone, “I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

“No, no not at all,” Luisa breathed, smiling up at him. “I just…didn’t realize your intentions until now.”

“Do you object?”

Luisa answered simply by undoing the rest of his shirt, and he pulled it off as she ran her hands over his bare chest. Her smile widened as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to kiss him again. As she felt James begin to take off his trousers, Luisa knew what the night had in store—and she reached over to turn down the candle lamp on the dresser, plunging them into total darkness.

“ _James?! ___” she panted.

“Shh, it’s alright…it’s just me. I’m right here, Luisa…”

~

_Again, the visions played before her. The tall dark knight facing the accursed Monster Raven, who leered down at his prey with a grimace—to one side, a small yellow duckling looked on, terror in her deep blue eyes._

_“To serve my Prince, I’ll plunge this sword through your heart and rid you from this world,” the knight spoke in a hard, rough voice, as if years of hardships had instilled that coldness in him. ___

_In that moment, the duckling quacked loudly, waving her wings in the air in protest. Her wings changed shape, morphing into hands and arms, the duck’s body grew into the long slender form of a prima ballerina. The eyes on her cherubic human face opened, still that intense blue, her bright red hair done up in white feathers, a pink and white tutu adorning her as she pranced closer to the knight on pointe shoes. ___

_“Princess Tutu?!” the Raven cried out disbelievingly, still in the haunting voice of Drosselmeyer. ___

_“My knight, please don’t do this,” Princess Tutu spoke in a melodic tone of gentle calm, though it was clear from her eyes she was pleading. “You’ll die!” ___

_“I have to,” the knight answered, looking at her and shaking his head. “Fate cannot be altered…now stand aside, princess.” ___

_“That’s right,” the Raven chortled. Once again, he snatched the knight up into his vicious claws as Princess Tutu gasped out loud. “It is only natural for you to suffer such tragedy…” ___

_“Please spare him!” the young princess begged, but it was too late. The knight screamed in agony as the Raven’s claws tore through him once again, and Princess Tutu clutched at her face in horror, “No! No! FAKIR!!!” ___

The sun had risen directly above the tower by the time Luisa opened her eyes the next day. Judging by the sunrays’ direction, it had to be close to noon. Rolling over onto her one side, she saw her dress lying haphazardly on the floor, realizing now that she was in nothing but her white slip. The memories of the night before came back to her at once, and she smiled. As she turned onto her other side, she saw James, her beloved prince still fast asleep, the bed sheet covering him from the waist down as he lay unclothed beside her. Taking up her hair from underneath her, Luisa gently covered his bare torso with her hair to keep him warm—before her mind went back to dwelling on that dream.

It was different this time. Sure, it ended the same way as always, but this time…the duck had become a human, and not just any human but the legendary Princess Tutu who restored the Prince’s heart to him—the Prince, who was James’ father. What on earth did all of this mean, and why did she keep dreaming about it? And the knight…that name she had cried out before his demise…the duck…was this all some sort of riddle she needed to figure out? If it was, then she had no time to lose.

Flinging the covers off of her, Luisa snatched the copy of _The Prince and the Raven ___from the floor and sat up to flip through it properly. If the Prince was James’ father and the Raven Princess his mother, then were the other characters in the story linked to him as well? Did James know of the knight who was cut down by the claws of the Raven—and of the tragic figure Princess Tutu, fated to become a speck of light and vanish as soon as she confessed her love to the Prince? The pages flicked in front of her eyes one by one: the knight’s fate at the hand of the Raven, the Prince cutting out his heart, Princess Tutu restoring his heart then vanishing, and the wavering ending where the story stopped…the story… _stopped… ___

A quiet gasp escaped Luisa’s throat as she turned what she had always known to be the final page—where the battle between the Prince and the Raven stopped abruptly. But this wasn’t where it ended…there was _more. ___Luisa quickly scanned through to see that an ending had been written in the book, a segment she had never seen before. But how, her copy had always—? She looked down at the floor, where her worn copy still lay—and realized that she had picked up James’ more pristine book by mistake. On the outside, the two copies didn’t look much different, but _inside…What is this? ___Nothing concerned Luisa more than the image on the first unfamiliar page she opened to: The drawing of a duck, watching the Prince raise his sword to the monstrous creature. _That duck… ___

“Do you always read after you awaken?”

Luisa nearly shrieked as she jumped, whirling around to face James, who was smiling up at her from his position on the bed, twirling her hair across his chest between his fingers. “James, why does your book have an ending?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he snorted, tugging on her hair in order to pull her closer.

“I’m _serious! ___” Luisa protested loudly, yanking her hair out of his grip. “This final passage, I—I’ve never seen it before.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen it?” James asked, sitting up to look over her shoulder at the page she was opened to. “Yes, Princess Tutu was the duck all along—”

“Princess Tutu turned into a speck of light and vanished, how is this possible?!” Luisa cried out in frustration.

“What tale have _you ___been reading?” James asked, his brow furrowing.

“ _This ___one!” Luisa cried, scooping up her copy from the floor and tossing it at James. “It stops just as the Prince and the Raven are about to do battle, there _is ___no ending. Drosselmeyer never _wrote ___one, he told me so himself!”

“Of course not, his hands were cut off by those who didn’t want him to spread any more tragedy,” James recounted, gingerly looking through Luisa’s copy as if it were an ancient artifact. “My father told me everything: the ending was written by Drosselmeyer’s one true descendant—Fakir.”

Luisa’s heart stopped beating for a moment, the agonized cry of Princess Tutu echoing in her ears plain as day, the anguished scream of that name…

“What is it?” James asked, dropping the book and placing his hands gently on her bare shoulders as Luisa clutched James’ book to her chest, breathing heavily.

“James…you said your father told you everything,” she said in a voice hardly above a whisper. “I have to know…who is Fakir…and who is the duck who became Princess Tutu?”

“Why must you know—?”

“Because I’ve dreamt about them for _years, ___” Luisa answered, turning around to face him. “I wouldn’t have if there wasn’t a reason or—please James, tell me.”

“Fakir is—well _was ___my father’s caregiver when he came out of the story without his heart,” James began, recalling what he had heard countless times as a child. “Ever since he was a child, Fakir believed he was the reincarnation of the knight from the tale and strived to maintain that role. He swore eternally to protect my father; nothing ever shook him from that resolve--until Princess Tutu appeared in the story at last, her small pathetic role taken on by—”

“—a duck,” Luisa finished, her hands beginning to shake.

“Yes,” James said, pulling her closer as she began to shiver. “Like Fakir, she wanted nothing more than to help and protect my father. So Drosselmeyer fastened a pendant out of a piece of my father’s heart and it transformed her into a human girl.”

“But I don’t understand,” Luisa said shaking her head, “If Fakir is the knight from the story, then how could he have finished it if he was cut down before it ended?”

“The same reason the duck who was Princess Tutu didn’t vanish as a speck of light,” James replied, his voice lowering as if he were getting to the good part. “My father says that the duck was the first to defy her miserable fate. Through her actions, Fakir realized he was wrong and that he did not have to succumb to the destiny of the knight—so he cast down his sword and took up his pen. It was then that he realized he was able to spin stories into reality, the same way Drosselmeyer had done. Not only did he save my father and mother and return them to the story, but he saved the little duck as well.”

Luisa had made it to the end of the book now, staring down at the final page, “So the girl who became Princess Tutu lost her human form in order to save the Prince. And Fakir…did he continue to write stories?”

“Oh surely,” James said. “Mother is pretty certain that Fakir had fallen in love with the duck and found a way to make her a human girl once again, to which Father would add that they deserve every bit as much happiness as he and my mother have. He always spoke highly of Fakir: a good heart beneath a rough exterior, a brilliant dancer and an incredibly talented swordsman—” He stopped abruptly and gasped at the same time Luisa did, their heads snapped towards eachother in shock. “The first day I met you…” James began slowly, “you said that Uzura told you your father was an excellent swordsman.”

“Coincidence,” Luisa breathed, shaking her head.

“I don’t believe that,” James replied, his hand reaching up to cup her face. “You yourself, Luisa, have a good heart beneath a rough exterior—yet sometimes, like right now, you have the inquisitiveness of a child.”

“My God…”

“Why— _why ___would Drosselmeyer give you an unfinished copy of _The Prince and the Raven ___otherwise?” James said, his voice rising. “He was afraid of you finding out the truth in your bloodline—because you’re _smart, ___Luisa and he knew you would have made the connection at some point!”

“The connection you’re suggesting is—James, you can’t possibly be thinking that the very man who defied my guardian and spun the ending of his story—!”

“—is your father,” James whispered in quiet triumph, and Luisa let the book slip from her lap and slam to the floor with a deafening thud. 

“That dream…” Luisa panted, her hands reaching for James’, “The duck that grieved the demise of the knight—my _father ___—she always had my exact blue eyes. Could it be that…the duck who became Princess Tutu is—!”

“My mother’s prediction was right,” James concluded excitedly, kissing Luisa’s shocked lips briefly, clutching her tightly as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I knew that _something ___brought us into eachother’s lives…could it be that I have fallen for the daughter of my father’s truest comrade?!”

“Oh James!” Luisa cried out happily, holding him tightly around the neck as they fell into eachother’s embrace. She had never felt so happy in her entire life—at last, everything had come into place for her and her true identity was revealed. At _last, ___she knew who her parents were. So contented was she that it was several moments before she heard the noon clock tower chime, and she pulled back from him quickly.

“Drosselmeyer, he’ll be here soon,” Luisa hissed, flinging herself across the bed to grab James’ clothes and throw them to him. “You have to leave _now— ___”

“Come with me,” James said, hurling his clothes back on as fast as he could. “I’ll tell my parents who you are, they’ll—”

“Tonight,” Luisa said, cupping his face in her hands once he’d finished dressing, kissing him softly on the lips. “Come back for me tonight, and then I promise I’ll go with you.”

“Luisa,” James said quietly, dropping to one knee and holding her hands in his. “I know I haven’t been able to give you the freedom you desire for yourself—but please _marry ___me and become my princess.”

“You idiot, you complete _idiot, ___” Luisa breathed, stooping to his level to kiss him again, “You have given me so much more than any freedom could offer.” She smiled after pulling back from his lips, “Yes—yes—a thousand times, _yes. ___Now _go. ___” She flung her hair over the side of the window, allowing James to descend it rapidly and take off in his carriage—and her heart soared along with it, for she could only imagine what James’ return would bring for her.

~

“Uzura, for the last time, let me pass through the portal!” Drosselmeyer exclaimed exasperatedly, as the little puppet continued to block the doorway to reality.

“She’s—uh—still changing, zura!” Uzura nodded vigorously, holding her arms out to shield the grandfather clock.

“For the past _two hours? ___” Drosselmeyer asked, his suspicious eyebrow raised. “Let me see for myself—”

“NO! He hasn’t left yet, zura!” Uzura cried out as the old man pushed past her—to which she immediately clapped her hands to her mouth.

“He? Who’s _‘he’? ___” Drosselmeyer rounded on her, peering down into her little face.

“Nobody, zura,” Uzura said promptly, shaking her head back and forth.

“Are you hiding something?” Drosselmeyer drawled. “Does my dear Luisa…have a _visitor? ___”

“I dunno, zura,” Uzura said, determined to keep her face as blank and emotionless as possible.

“Oh, yes you do,” Drosselmeyer concluded with a wicked grin. “And I have ways of making you tell me the truth…” With a snap, he conjured a match out of thin air and struck it against the side of the clock—the flame flickering lethally, reflected in little Uzura’s eyes. “Now who is in my tower with Luisa…?” The lit match moved closer and closer to the trembling puppet, mere centimeters away, the flame licking the side of her face—

“ _Prince James, zura! ___” Uzura finally screamed, the heat of the fire too much for her to bear.

“That wretched child!” Drosselmeyer spat out, putting out the flame in the process. “Even by keeping her confined from the outside world, she _still ___found a way to a happy ending. But it’s not too late…no, no…there are still ways in which I can ensure her ultimate tragedy. Just you wait, little Luisa…I’ll be coming for you.”


	5. The Danger In Not Knowing Your Place

Chapter 5 – The Danger in Not Knowing Your Place

Luisa had begun packing her things almost immediately after James had left, stuffing some dresses and books into a large bag, preparing for his return when he would take her away as his bride. At long last, after fifteen years of being shut out from the world, she was leaving this isolated tower for good—and with a man who loved her for everything she was, and whom she loved in turn. This feeling she felt for James, which she had never known she was even capable of feeling made her heart so full that it ached with a desire to be near him. An ache that she was sure caused her to weep like a foolish child in his arms the night before, that pain that coursed through her much later in the night as they made love—she had never known a pain that could make her feel so loved and wanted before. From that moment on, Luisa belonged to her prince, and once Drosselmeyer made his daily visit to her, she was free to dream until James came back for her. 

As the minutes turned into hours, and morning became afternoon, Luisa became more unsettled as her guardian failed to appear to her from within the enchanted grandfather clock and wondered if somehow, some way he had figured out that James had spent the night. Perhaps he had come earlier that morning—Luisa gasped—while they were still asleep. Is that why he hadn’t come? Was he so infuriated with her that he’d forsaken her?

“My precious child,” the familiar voice echoed from the dusty old clock, and Luisa heaved a sigh of relief—there he was at last. “How are you?”

“You’re late today, Herr Drosselmeyer,” Luisa stated casually, rising from her chair and kicking her bag underneath the bed as the dead man materialized before her.

“How observant,” Drosselmeyer snickered, stepping forward. “I’ve had some things to take care of, aspects of my existence to put back in order. You know how irritating things can be when they fall _out of your control, ___don’t you?”

“I…suppose…” Luisa trailed off uneasily; she did not like the look the shriveled man was giving her as he crossed the room. “W-where’s Uzura?”

“Uzura will not be joining us today,” Drosselmeyer nearly cut her off as if he had known she was going to ask that.

“Why not?” Luisa asked, her heart freezing. As if his gaze upon her was not unsettling enough, her guardian’s voice suggested that he was trying desperately to remain calm.

“As I understand it, you’ve been having plenty of company around the place lately,” Drosselmeyer said loudly, the kindness more forced than ever, and now Luisa felt as though her heart had dropped to her feet, _He does know… ___

“That’s ridiculous,” Luisa claimed with a short laugh, turning away from him nervously. “Who could possibly have—?” She gasped as the old man swooped behind her, clenching a gnarled, spindly gloved hand around her upper arm.

“Who is Prince James?” he hissed closely to her ear.

“How did you—?!”

“I threatened Uzura, she told me everything,” Drosselmeyer growled, all traces of casualty gone from his tone, leaving nothing but malice. “How the boy’s been visiting you, how he’s gained entrance to this tower by climbing your hair, _how he spent the evening here last night—! ___”

“It’s true!” Luisa shouted out, yanking her arm from his grip and spinning around to face him dead on. “He’s been coming here each afternoon the past three months, giving me the outside companionship you’ve denied me all these years. He’s the most gentle, compassionate, numerously flawed yet selfless man and I _love him! ___”

“I’ve raised you,” Drosselmeyer began, clutching her by the arms again and pulling her face close to his menacingly, “to know and understand your place in this world—this world that _I control. ___For you to throw that all away because one boy feeds you some pretty, sweet nothings that you’re foolish enough to believe—”

“Yes, I _do ___believe him,” Luisa said in the bravest voice she could muster as her body trembled in the old man’s grip. “James has given me the one thing you never could, and that’s the freedom to be my own person—and to be loved for being that person. That’s all I ever wanted, and you couldn’t even manage _that ___for me! But James could…and in return, I gave him _everything. ___”

Drosselmeyer’s wild eyes widened as the impact of what her words meant sunk in, “You ungrateful child…you _sicken ___me.”

“Likewise,” Luisa retorted with a sneer, her eyes narrowed. Reaching behind her, she felt for the hard-bound cover of _The Prince and the Raven ___, snatched it up and held it up in front of Drosselmeyer’s face. “James is the son of the Prince you spun this tale around—the tale you _swore to me ___had no ending!”

Letting go of her, Drosselmeyer grabbed the book from her and flipped through to the end. His eyes scanned over the final pages, and a tight laugh escaped his throat as his gleaming eyes looked back up at her, “You found out…”

“Where are my parents?” Luisa asked angrily. “What _else ___have you lied to me about?”

Drosselmeyer’s clenched chuckle became a full grown cackle of laughter. Dropping the book on the ground, he seized Luisa’s wrist roughly and flung her on the bed. “Selfish, _treacherous child ___—you want to see your parents so badly?!” Panting heavily, Luisa looked up to see that Drosselmeyer had conjured a portal framed by an ominous clock gear in midair, various images and sounds swirling within it until they slowed to a deciphered pace:

_“Dappling in story-spinning is dangerous, boy…” ___

_“Stay away from my daughter!” Fakir shouted. ___

_“A price must be paid, now give me the child!” Drosselmeyer roared, and without a moment’s wait, reached out a large spindly hand and snatched the baby from Duck’s arms. ___

_“No!” Duck screamed, bursting into tears upon the loss of contact with her daughter—Drosselmeyer turned with a clenched laugh to see Fakir, breathing heavily, glaring with utmost hatred, and wielding the Lohengrin sword he had seized from the mantle. ___

_“Let her go,” Fakir demanded in a low, husky voice. ___

_“Or else what?” Drosselmeyer laughed. “You’ll kill me?” ___

_“I’ll cut you to pieces, you sadistic filth!” Fakir yelled in fury, slicing the blade through the dead man’s cheek. “I won’t let you take her!” Raising the sword high above his head, he made to plunge the sword through Drosselmeyer’s chest—just as the old man cackled and thrust the baby into the path of the sword, already descending in swift motion. ___

_“FAKIR!” Duck screamed out desperately at the top of her voice, and the blade ceased its plunge. There was silence, broken only by Luisa’s crying that has not died down since being separated from her mother. Fakir panted heavily, his eyes widened in horror as he realized the sword had come mere inches from taking the life of his helpless little girl. ___

_“You would harm your own daughter in your vain attempt to rid me from this world?” Drosselmeyer grinned evilly. Clenching his eyes shut tight and trembling with suppressed anger and helplessness, Fakir dropped the sword to the floor with a loud clatter. “There, now we’ve reached an understanding…” ___

_“Give her back, please!” Duck wept, rushing forward towards the clock world entrance where Drosselmeyer stood. “Take me instead!” ___

_“Idiot! What are you thinking?!” Fakir cried out, grabbing Duck around the waist as she made to throw herself into the portal within the grandfather clock. ___

_“Your story is finished, my dear little Duck,” Drosselmeyer laughed at the absurdity of this bargain. “Don’t worry, I will care for your child…for her story has only just begun…” ___

_“Luisa!” Duck screamed, the portal sealing shut, the grandfather clock disappearing—parting the helpless parents from their only child forever. “Luisa! LUISA!”… ___

“NO!” Luisa screamed as the image within the portal swirled into nothingness and faded from view. Drosselmeyer watched with unsuppressed glee as Luisa lay on the bed sobbing into her arms.

“Now you know the feeling when you discover a definite answer, an absolute truth…” he stated under his breath. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“You told me they were heartless!” Luisa shrieked, whipping her tear-stained face around at him accusingly. “All my life, you said they abandoned me! I could have been raised by parents who truly loved me all along— _and you kidnapped me, you creature! ___”

“They had it coming to them,” Drosselmeyer continued to say in a vicious, cackling tone. “I took the one thing that was priceless to that crafty man—your father who dared to defy the tragic fate he was destined for.” With each word, he inched closer to Luisa who lay frozen on the bed, “By raising you under my wing, you would grow to know your place and accept it as such. I gave you everything you wanted, Luisa…just as I did for another young girl many years ago. A girl who wanted a prince, yet destined to never have him. And just like that girl—just like _your pitiful mother ___—you’ve attempted to resist the boundaries I’ve set for you!”

“And like her, I’ll succeed—because I am no longer your property!” Luisa proclaimed, sitting up on he bed to glare at her demented caretaker with utmost hatred. “I’m leaving tonight with James to become his princess, and you can’t do a thing about it.”

“Oh _can’t I?! ___” Drosselmeyer roared, bearing down upon her. “You will leave my care when _I ___tell you to. From this point forth, you will be taken from this tower and all your possessions and come with me to a place where I can _always ___watch you, where every move you make is monitored by myself—and you will never see that prince again.” His eyes flashed dangerously, “I’ll make _sure ___of that.”

“Don’t you _dare ___touch him!” Luisa screamed in a fierce protectiveness worthy of her father. “Do what you will with me, but leave James out of it!”

Seizing her roughly by her long hair, the dead man slapped a harsh bony hand across Luisa’s face, sending her sprawling on the bed onto her stomach. As he held her down with one hand, Luisa saw him out the corner of her eye reach inside his vast blood red cape and withdraw a glinting silver pair of scissors, “I will make sure, dear Luisa, that your tragedy ends to my liking…no matter what the cost.”

“Please stop it! _DON’T! ___” Luisa screamed out. Lying limply on the bed in utter defeat, she felt the familiar sensation of tears rolling across her face once again as Drosselmeyer yanked up her hair and began violently hacking away at her extensive black and forest green tresses…

~

James did not know who was more overjoyed at his impending marriage, himself or his parents. Upon his return to the palace that afternoon, he requested a private audience with them and told them everything: how Luisa had accepted his proposal, even after she had seen the potential risk of the Raven’s blood within him, shamefully admitted that he had slept with her upon his mother’s disapproving look, and topped it off with the discovery he had made, that Luisa had to be the daughter of his parents’ old comrades. The latter had left his father speechless, which did not happen very often, and after some deliberation with Rue, gave his blessing to have Luisa become James’ princess. They had acted so formal about the whole thing—but James could have sworn as he left the room that his parents had both cried out joyfully and embraced eachother.

Approaching the tower, James lowered the carriage down into the woods, careful not to drop the bag of engagement presents he had bought for his future bride. Securing the swan drawn carriage in the trees, hidden by the nighttime shadows, James swiftly strode from the forest into the clearing where the tower stood. Hitching the bag over his shoulder, he called out loudly, “Luisa! My love, the future princess of my kingdom! Let down your hair for me!”

At once, the dark mane tumbled down from the window and landed at his feet, and James’ heart thumped excitedly in his breast. He took his time ascending the stone wall, savoring each step as it brought him closer and closer to his Luisa, eager to meet her clear loving blue eyes gazing back at him, feel the smoothness of her lightly tanned skin beneath his hand, and kiss those soft cherry lips once again…closer and closer, waiting to hear the sweetness of her bright, angelic voice calling his name—

“ _James… ___” The young prince was jolted out of his quiet revelry as his name was spoken aloud, not by Luisa but by a ghostly dead-like voice, a voice so haunting it chilled him to the core—and as he reached the window ledge, he knew why. Luisa’s hair was here, but it was tied to the corner of the sill. And the gaze meeting his was none other than the wild demented eyes of—

“Herr Drosselmeyer?!” A long spindly hand came out and clenched James around the arm, dragging him inside the tower. “What’s happened here?” Everything was gone, the desk and chair, the enormous bed, the bookcase, the sword—and most importantly, the girl he had come to rescue.

“Prince James,” Drosselmeyer repeated, observing the white-haired boy as he got to his feet. “You come from a rather _legendary ___line of royalty, don’t you?” He drummed his fingers atop the hard cover of _The Prince and the Raven ___as he spoke.

“Where’s Luisa?” James asked, his hand ready to unsheathe his sword at any moment. “She couldn’t have gone, there’s no way—”

“Oh there _is ___a way,” the old man in his flamboyant wear corrected him. He pointed with a lone index finger over at the far wall, where the grandfather clock still remained. “Luisa has gone to a quaint little gap in time. A sort of eternally damned purgatory, if you will; I myself have occupied it for over two hundred years now.”

“No…she isn’t…” A cold, vice-like grip had seized James’ heart, all the air had left his lungs, and he felt as though the stone walls around him were crumbling away. “She _isn’t—! ___”

“She may as well be, for you’ll never see her again,” Drosselmeyer snarled, glaring down at him as James’ red eyes pierced him. “A storybook prince…you should know better than anyone else not to tread the line between stories and reality.”

“I could say the same to _you! ___” James shouted out, the sword now in his hand and brandished at the dead man. “You who continuously abuses the privilege of spinning stories, who toyed with the fates of my parents and Luisa’s all those years ago—and even when they resisted will _still ___not relent!” He seized Drosselmeyer by the collar and pushed his sword up under his chin, “Even an eternity in _hell ___wouldn’t be a good enough punishment for you.”

“Powerful words, boy,” Drosselmeyer drawled as he saw angry tears brimming in James’ eyes. “Another boy around your age dared to challenge me with words like those once—words that only fueled my desire to seek revenge, to take _his daughter ___from him and seal her in this tower from the outside world under my watchful eye! Now your actions against my will have given me no choice but to make you suffer as well.”

“ _Tell me where Luisa is! ___” James bellowed, slashing the sword in the air and aiming for Drosselmeyer’s chest—only for the dead man to grab hold of the descending blade and snap it in half, as easily as if it were made of plastic.

“You little fool,” Drosselmeyer sneered at the prince, backing him towards the window ledge. “When I said you’ll never see her again…I meant you’ll never _see ___her again!”

With one sweep of his cape, the door to the grandfather clock swung open and a dozen black crows sprang from the ghostly portal. One by one they attacked James, pecked at his face and eyes until he backed up so far he fell over the edge of the window. A scream of pain and sheer agony tore through the prince as he felt himself free falling through the whooshing cold evening air. A searing pain suddenly shot through every limb of his body as he hit the ground, and everything blacked out. For several moments, James was sure he was dead, until he realized he could still feel the cold wind on his face, and still hear the dead man calling down to him, “You see, it is only natural for you to suffer such tragedy!”

James opened his eyes, but there was nothing…nothing but empty blackness as he blinked rapidly, willing his vision to come back to him. He lay there, as broken inside as he was outwardly, listening to the cackling of the crows circling above him…

~

“Have they found anything?” Rue asked desperately, meeting Mytho and her three daughters in the sitting room. “Anything at all?”

“The captain says he and the men have searched every inch of the kingdom, even the surrounding badlands,” Mytho answered solemnly, his arm around Cosette who looked up at him hopefully. “There’s no trace of him.”

“I don’t understand, _how ___could he just disappear like that?” Odette asked in a slight panic, leaning against the rain-soaked window.

“It’s been _three months ___,” Juliet added in an anguished tone, taking her mother’s hand as she sank weak-kneed onto the couch next to her. “M-maybe the reason he hasn’t been found is…because…”

“ _Stop it ___, Juliet!” Cosette suddenly screamed out, making every turn to her as she pointed accusingly at her sister, which caused Juliet to break down in tears. “Don’t you _dare ___start talking like that! He’s our brother; we have to have faith that he’s alive! We just _have ___to!”

“ _Shh ___, dearest, it’s alright,” Mytho soothed his younger daughter as she buried her face in his shoulder. “We’ll find him, we’ll do whatever it takes, but we’ll find James.”

Odette, the only girl who had managed to remain composed, turned away from the window to face her parents, “I wonder…could this _girl ___have anything to do with his disappearance?” The word “girl” dripped with malice.

“What do you mean, Odette?” Rue asked, stroking Juliet’s hair as she wept quietly.

“I _mean ___besides what James has said about how _perfect ___she is, we don’t know a thing about her,” the slightly eldest of the triplets went on. “Maybe she did something horrible to James.”

“I don’t believe that’s the case,” Mytho said slowly, meeting Rue’s gaze at the private knowledge about Luisa’s background they shared between eachother.

“Maybe she’s some sort of harlot witch who stole James away to a secluded house, where she’s using him for her own sick vendetta against—!”

“ _Enough ___, Odette,” Rue cut in firmly. “Luisa would never do such a thing.”

“You’ve never even met her!” Odette shouted. “How could you possibly know that?!”

“I just _do ___,” Rue stated with the air of finality that this conversation was over.

“Girls…would you excuse your mother and I, please?” Mytho said gently, kissing the top of Cosette’s head. Odette stormed from the room in a huff, followed much more quietly by her other two sisters. Once the door had closed and the Prince was sure they had privacy, he turned to Rue who was still sitting on the couch, her hands twisted together in her lap. “My Princess…”

“ _Mytho ___,” Rue breathed out in a shuddered gasp, jumping up from the couch and into his arms, unable to hold her poise any longer. “I’m so afraid…what if the girls are right?” Mytho remained silent as he held Rue tightly, feeling a lone tear trail down his own cheek.

“There are so many answers we still don’t know,” Mytho said quietly, resting his chin on top of her head. “And you know as well as I where we need to go to find those answers.”

Rue looked up at him suddenly, her arms around his waist tightening, “You can’t mean—?”

“It’s the only place we haven’t thought to look,” Mytho said with a smile. “And there just might be someone there who can help us.”

“My word…it’s been _years ___,” Rue smiled in turn, embracing him tightly once more.

“We’ll leave at once,” Mytho said, letting go of her and heading from the room. “I’ll tell the guard to make ready the swan carriage…”

~

“Fakir?” Duck called when she heard the knock at the door late one afternoon, “Can you get that please?”

“Kind of busy here,” came her husband’s murmur from the study, his quill scratching away at the parchment.

“You _said ___you were taking a break!”

“That was ten minutes ago,” Fakir answered, not looking up from the paper. “Can’t you get it?”

“Sure, if you want dinner burned again!” Duck called back mockingly, removing the bread from the oven and barely avoiding tripping on the wood floor as she moved it to the counter. “Come on, it’s probably Autor anyway!”

“ _Alright ___,” Fakir groaned, throwing down the quill and shuffling from the study to the front door, muttering under his breath, “…told that egotistical bigot it would take at least another three days before—” He wrenched the front door open, and for a moment Fakir was sure he must be dreaming. Standing at the door in robes of royal purple and pure white, the writer stared into the eyes of a man he was sure he would never see again.

“Fakir…” Mytho smiled warmly at Fakir, his princess Rue standing behind him. “It’s been a long time.” He spoke so calmly, so conversational as if they had not seen eachother for only a few months, rather than nearly twenty years.

“Mytho?” Fakir finally managed to say after he’d found his voice again. “Rue? How—why—what could you possibly be doing here?”

“Fakir, what’s going on?” Duck called from the kitchen, and Mytho’s face brightened.

“That can’t be _Duck ___,” the Prince smiled, shaking his head at the familiar cheerful voice, and as Fakir opened his mouth to respond, his wife came into the room carrying a salad bowl.

“If it isn’t Autor, then just—” She gasped aloud, simultaneously with Mytho and Rue, and the salad bowl slipped from her hands and clattered loudly to the floor. 

“There’s no way,” Rue began slowly, “this woman could _possibly ___be the same Duck—that _same ___scrawny little girl?”

“Rue…?” Duck breathed, her hand pressed at her heart. “Mytho…?” For several moments, the four of them were silent, unable to believe that their paths were crossing once again, that fate had brought them back into eachother’s lives. “Fakir, let them _in ___, for goodness sake!” Duck finally shouted out, and the writer jumped aside so the Prince and Princess could enter. “Ohhh, how _stupid ___of me!” Duck groaned to herself as she started cleaning up the salad she had spilled everywhere, and Rue couldn’t help chuckling: No matter how much she had grown, she was still the same Duck. She brought the salad bowl back into the kitchen at the same time Fakir reappeared with four cups of tea on a tray. Once the royal couple was seated and Duck had rejoined them did she throw her arms around Rue first, then Mytho, overjoyed at seeing them again.

“I never thought we’d see you in human form again, Duck,” Mytho said as he pulled back from their embrace. “You look just lovely…Fakir is a lucky man.” Duck giggled nervously as a bit of the crush she once had on Mytho surfaced, then cleared her throat loudly upon Fakir’s narrowed gaze and sat back down beside him.

“We’re awfully sorry about just showing up like this, but we need your help,” Rue began, the anxiety she had kept abated for the past several minutes plain in her tone. “James, our eldest son has gone missing. We’ve searched the entirety of the kingdom and the surrounding lands and not a trace of him.”

“That’s horrible,” Duck sympathized, sipping from her teacup. “We’ll do whatever we can to help—well, _Fakir ___can, but you know I can’t become Princess Tutu anymore—”

“No, that’s not what we’re asking for at all,” Mytho interrupted her, setting his cup down in his saucer. “The thing of it is that before he went missing, he intended to marry a young girl named Luisa he met in an isolated tower—” There was a clatter as Duck’s cup toppled over as she went to set it in the saucer—this time she didn’t bother to wipe up the spilled tea.

“What did you say…her name was?” Fakir asked quietly, speaking for the first time in several moments.

“Luisa,” Rue repeated. “James met her when his carriage crashed into her tower by accident, and since then he had gone to court her for weeks until she agreed to marry him.”

“Fakir…” Duck whispered quietly.

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Duck,” Fakir hissed back, placing his hand firmly on top of hers. Swallowing hard, he looked back at Mytho, “Did James ever describe…what she looked like?”

“Well, he mentioned a light tan complexion…” Mytho began, struggling to remember what his son had told him months previous. “ _Incredibly ___long dark hair—so long in fact, that he used it to climb inside this secluded tower where she lived.” Duck’s hand in Fakir’s squeezed harder and harder with each description. “And he always brought up her eyes, clear sapphire blue—”

“—so deep, you could lose yourself in them for eternity” Fakir finished, for it was the same for him whenever he gazed into Duck’s eyes. “It _can’t ___be…”

“It _has ___to be!” Duck cried out, clutching Fakir’s hand in a death grip.

“Our first child, a daughter whom we named Luisa, was stolen from us by Drosselmeyer fifteen years ago,” Fakir said to Mytho and Rue in a hushed voice. “We never saw her again from that day on…but we always held out hope that she was still alive…”

Rue smiled warmly as tears filled her eyes, “James _did ___say she was fifteen.”

“Our _Luisa! ___” Duck burst out, flinging her head forward into her hands as she began to cry weakly. “I knew it! I just knew deep inside my heart that she was alive!”

“After all this time, after _all ___the worrying and anger and tears…” Fakir trailed off as his voice broke, and he covered his eyes with his hand for a few moments to compose himself.

“Now you know—and thanks to James, Luisa knows as well that you are her true family,” Mytho said.

“I never thought this day would come,” Fakir smiled, swiping at his eyes as Duck flung herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. “It’s alright now, Duck, don’t cry anymore…”

“But we haven’t heard any word from either of them for three months now,” Rue went on quietly. “James is missing, so it’s possible Luisa could be gone as well.”

“But maybe not,” Duck gulped, resurfacing from Fakir’s shoulder at last. “I mean we thought Drosselmeyer had killed Luisa fifteen years ago and he _didn’t. ___”

“Drosselmeyer just might be behind James’ disappearance as well,” Fakir said in a voice of dead seriousness. “I see…it all makes perfect _sense ___now.”

“What does?” Mytho asked.

“This is all just another story, a ploy for that dead man to create his tragedy,” Fakir replied thoughtfully, his mind working frantically. “When the four of us finished _The Prince and the Raven ___, that infuriated Drosselmeyer, because it didn’t end the way he wanted it to. He couldn’t stand the characters in his story taking control of their fates, so he plotted his revenge against us—revenge…which now involves our children.”

“So Drosselmeyer has them _both ___,” Rue breathed, her hands clutched at her chest. “We have to do something!”

“Fakir, your ability to spin stories,” Mytho began as both men rose from their seats. “It might be our only chance to get them back.”

“Mytho, I’ve tried for fifteen years to bring my daughter back to us,” Fakir said solemnly, hanging his head. “Duck…it tore her apart to watch Drosselmeyer steal Luisa away, and it broke my heart every time she remembered and cried over it. I just wanted so desperately to bring that joy back to her—to _both ___of us—and I couldn’t even manage that.”

“Fakir, don’t you understand?” Duck stood up next to him, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Remember when I couldn’t take off my pendant to give Mytho his final heart shard? Well, it was because my own feelings were holding me back—because I was selfish and afraid to let go of being human. Your feelings, your doubts that Luisa was still alive kept you from writing her back. But now that we know for certain that she _is ___alive…you have nothing holding _you ___back anymore.”

For a few moments, Fakir said nothing. Then he bent down to kiss Duck briefly on the lips before turning back to the royal couple, who were both on their feet.

“Whatever it takes,” Fakir said firmly with newfound resolve. “We won’t rest until Luisa and James are back with us…for why should they suffer for our endeavors of so long ago?”


	6. The Hope Heals

Chapter 6 – The Hope Heals

How much time had passed? Where on earth was he? _Luisa...my dearest...what has he done to you? Are you alive? Please...please send me a sign that you're safe... ___James recounted these over and over as he stumbled blindly, surviving in the endless forest as best he could. With the loss of his sight, James had had to rely heavily on his hearing and touch, feeling for the sour berries he was forced to live on for weeks and weeks following his potentially fatal fall from the tower—the tower that had formerly held his love, now empty like the condition of his soul without the company of Luisa.

Falling to his knees in exhaustion, he crawled to a nearby boulder and collapsed, resting his head on the cold, hard surface. He had come close, so close to achieving happiness for both of them: Luisa would finally be free and James would at last have chosen a bride to eventually become his queen. Instead he was left blind, broken and bloody, his body a mess of dirt and grime. And suddenly he felt angry; infuriated at his parents and Luisa's. For as they had both discovered that fateful night, their parents had foiled Drosselmeyer, tricked him into taking control of their own fates. If it had not been for them, the old man would not be so hell bent for revenge—would not be taking out his wrath now on their offspring. 

A rumble of anger bubbled up from inside James' stomach before bursting forth from his lips into a loud, long scream which echoed across the vast emptiness of trees, dirt and moss. A cry of rage, fury, helplessness, agony, and finally despair settled in as he lowered his head wearily onto the rock that was his resting place. It was unfair of him to think such things, lying there while his anger gave way to tears, dripping from the end of his nose as sobs racked him. Luisa's father, his own father, they had only done what they had to in order to live peacefully, to not live under the thumb of this sadistic fossil who took control of their lives like puppets on strings. They fought back. They didn't think about the consequences the future might hold, they simply fought back. 

James sat up suddenly, wiping his face on his wrist. And that was what he and Luisa had to do—they also had to fight back. He was just about to pull himself into a standing position when a voice called out.

“James-zura!”

He froze. There was no mistaking that voice, that strange impediment on the ends of her sentences. But how on earth—?

“James-zura! Where'd you go, zura?!”

“Uzura!” James called, scrambling over the boulder to follow her voice. “Uzura!”

“James-zura! Uzura found you, zura!” Two pairs of tiny, chubby arms latched onto James's leg, holding him tight. James knelt down to her level, feeling for her little shoulders and unhinging her from him.

“Uzura, how did you possibly find me?” James breathed, half disbelievingly, half in relief that after all these long months, he had been found.

“You screamed, zura,” Uzura responded. “It was really loud, so Uzura followed the sound, zura.” Her little body was shaking, even though the weather was quite warm, as she reached up and touched one of his eyes. “What happened, zura?”

“Drosselmeyer,” James answered huskily, “He tricked me into climbing the tower the night I came to rescue Luisa and threw me from it. I was attacked by crows and the next thing I knew...I couldn't see a thing.” Drops of water landed on his hands, and Uzura's quiet gasps of air ruled out the possibility of rain. “Uzura...wh-what—?”

“Uzura is so sorry, zura!” Latching her arms around James' neck, the little puppet hoisted herself up, burying her face in his shoulder. “He made Uzura tell, zura! Tell him about you and Luisa, zura! Uzura would have burned from the flame if she didn't tell, but Uzura didn't know he would try to kill you, zura!”

“It's alright,” James whispered, rubbing Uzura's smooth wooden back as she calmed herself down. He could very well have been angry with Uzura for exposing their secret—but to learn that she had been threatened with fire changed his outlook completely. Drosselmeyer had control over every single one of them, no matter what measures he had to resort to. _Which could mean... ___

“Uzura,” James began, pulling back from her firm hold, “you know where Luisa is, don't you? What has he done with her?” When Uzura did not respond right away, his heart weighed heavily in his chest. “Uzura, she's not—he hasn't—”

“No, no, Luisa's alive, zura!” Uzura answered, angling James' face so he was looking directly at her, he could not tell for himself. “But she's cold, zura...she's like ice, zura.”

“Like ice, what do you mean?” the prince asked frantically. Whatever the dead man had done to her, it was obviously a fate worse than death. “Uzura, you have to guide me to her—show me where she is.”

“It's this way, zura,” Uzura tugged on his hand, leading James along a path to the left as he felt his way along the trees on his right. Tree after tree his hand passed along until his hand fell on something strange. It was the height of a tree, but it did not feel rough with peeling bark. It was smooth, as if sanded down to make an oak table. Knowing now what the old man was capable of, he could very well have disguised this tree to make it look identical to the ones in the forest—yet this one was different.

“Uzura...is this—?”

“A clock, zura,” Uzura answered, nodding, “that looks like a tree, zura.” James heard what sounded like a door swinging back on the hinges, and Uzura pulled him down to his knees. “You climb down here, zura.”

James felt gingerly for the ground, which sloped downward onto a ladder. He had no choice; he would have to feel his way down carefully to find his way. To find Drosselmeyer's prison. To find Luisa.

~

_Cold...so cold...so long. There's nothing...nothing left at all...nothing left for me... ___

Over and over, these thoughts passed fleetingly through Luisa's mind as she lay staring up into a vast abyss darkness, populated only by clock gears whirring hypnotically above her. She herself lay on a large gear, its metal cold as winter, making her lips tremble and teeth chatter. How long had she been here? She would be dead by now under normal circumstances—but this was not what Drosselmeyer had in mind. No, he intended to keep her this cold, this lost, this miserable for as long as he possibly could—for as long as it kept him entertained. 

Luisa was weak from the frigid conditions, vulnerable from such loss of hope that she did not even find the resolve to move. Oh she had resisted at first; heaven above, had she screamed to be released, wept at losing James as well as her dark, green-tinted hair. The hair that could run the length of her tower was now a jagged, messy cut just above her shoulders. Everything had been taken from her as quickly as it had been given—and there was nothing left for her to do. With no response from her caretaker since he had thrown her into this terrible limbo, Luisa resolved herself to death. But even Drosselmeyer would not let her escape in this way; he intended to make her suffer. A merciful death was not in the cards.

Luisa sat up slowly as she felt sudden warmth within her eyes, her vision blurred. Holding her shivering frame, she pleaded silently for death to overtake her as tears dripped into her lap, her lone source of warmth slipping from her eyes. A voice, faint yet frantic, called out to her. It was familiar, but still impossible. No one had been able to find her down here, Drosselmeyer had made sure of that.

“Luisa! Luisa!” A different voice now. A young man's voice. But no, this was even more impossible... 

“Luisa!” It was louder now. _It can't be him—Drosselmeyer said he was dead. ___

“Luisa-zura!” the frantic voice called again. “I found him, zura! I found James, zura!”

 _James...James...James... ___“James?!” Luisa finally found her voice, hoarse and crackled from lack of use. She stood, staring down a long corridor that had opened up, the gears shoved aside as a small light at the end grew larger and larger. Uzura was holding a lamp and running in her direction. And holding onto her hand right behind her was none other than the the man Drosselmeyer had tried to kill—the man who survived, the man who loved Luisa so much that he risked everything to come for her. “James!”

“Luisa!” Her happiness, her elation at seeing him again was abated instantly. His eyes did not find her, even though she stood ten feet from his vision. They darted aimlessly, and Luisa saw how battered he was, his eyes red with infection, wounded from heaven only knew what. Her arms found their way around him, and they both collapsed to the ground, James from his wounds and severe exhaustion at keeping up with Uzura's pace. But it had been worth it all. She was here. His inability to see her face was made up for with her kisses, seemingly twice as sweet on his lips, yet salty from her tears. 

“James, my God, what's happened to you?” Luisa exclaimed, holding his face in her hands and examining his eyes. “You...you can't see me, can you?” Her voice broke with anguish, and James reached up to feel for her face.

“No, but it's...it's fine,” he lied—he could not show weakness in front of her to cause her worry. 

“Oh, James,” Luisa whispered, stroking his face, running her fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry...but I'm just so relieved. I thought you—!”

“--were dead!” James finished along with her, initiating the kiss this time as he sank down into her lap. “I'm sorry this all happened to you. Your skin is so ice cold, you ha—” James sat up suddenly as his fingers found the uneven ends of Luisa's now shortened hair. “No...Luisa, no, your hair!”

“I don't care, I don't care about my stupid hair!” Luisa burst out, brushing the locks away before taking his hand. “How—how could I have let this happen to you?!” 

“Don't,” James whispered soothingly, holding her face as her tears soaked his hand, “Don't cry Luisa, please.”

“Don't tell me not to cry when you're blinded like this—wounded, and—and—I can't do anything!” It was all she could choke out before sobs overtook her, rocking her prince back and forth in her arms. 

“It's alright,” James breathed into her ear. “Even though I cannot formally marry you, you are my princess, Luisa. And I have faith in you.”

“What—what can I possibly do for you?” Luisa whispered.

“Over here, zura!” came Uzura's cry, and Luisa whirled around, having forgotten the young puppet was still there. She pointed beside her, where a short wooden desk stood. Atop that desk were sheets of parchment paper and a quill feather of purest white. 

“What is it?” James asked hoarsely.

“It's...a writing desk,” Luisa responded, her brow furrowing in confusion. Moving to get to her feet, she realized James was still leaning heavily against her. “Can you stand?”

James pushed himself to his knees, before crumpling back down due to the injuries from months of wandering. “Afraid not,” he answered with a weak smile.

Luisa leaned down and kissed him, “I'll be back.” Yanking her long skirt aside, she stood up and strode over to the desk. Where did it come from? How long had it been there? Whatever the case was, there was one thing that was certain. Drosselmeyer had put this here. For her. To test her. She could not help grimacing. It was her father's writing that had imprisoned Drosselmeyer, kept him from invading her parents' story. And now, the deceased author was waiting to see if Luisa had inherited this talent. And there was no way she would not abide by his demands...because it was the only way to save James.

Bending over the desk, Luisa glanced over the few sheets of parchment provided for her. She gingerly picked up the snow white swan feather, before nearly dropping it again. The texture, the softness of this feather was unlike anything feather she had ever felt. It felt exactly like...she stroked it several times before it finally dawned on her: It felt like a strand of James' feathery white hair. Was this another ploy in Drosselmeyer's plan, using the texture of James hair to distract her? Shaking her thoughts clear, she hovered the pen over the parchment, preparing to write.

Until she realized something even more vital to this task. She had not been given any ink.

“Luisa.” She faintly heard his call as that familiar sensation of hopelessness began to sink back into her chest, weighing on her heart like a lifelong burden. “Luisa, are you alright?”

“Y-yes, I'm fine, just—thinking is all!” But nothing was coming. How on earth was she supposed to write at all, let alone to save the man she loved, without any ink? Luisa shook her head slowly, _There is no way... ___Looking back over her shoulder, she saw James, his eyes focused on a point three feet away from her, his crimson eyes clouded over in a glazed fog. He could not see her at all...because of her, he would never be able to see her again.

“You can do it, zura,” Uzura said softly, reaching up to pat Luisa's hand, “Don't give up.” Shaking her head again, Luisa dropped the quill back on the desk, covering her mouth with her other hand to stifle her sobs. If James heard her crying, he would know the situation was bleak—and she could not bear to dash his hopes in this way. Pressing the heels of her hands against her forehead, Luisa watched her tears fall on the parchment as she tried her absolute hardest to think of something, anything that could help them...

Uzura gasped, “Look, zura!”

Luisa sat bolt upright, staring at the parchment where Uzura was pointing frantically. She carefully watched as the splotches of water where her tears had fallen grew darker, settling into the shade of a midnight blue. 

Luisa felt her heartbeat quicken. This was it. Her tears were the ink!

“Hold on, James!” she called out suddenly, snatching up the quill up again and dipping its tip into one of the drops. Moving it smoothly along the paper, she began to form words, then sentences, and before long a paragraph—her feelings and her passion pouring out onto the page in droves, desperate to heal James' wounds, to heal his eyes, to save him from spending an eternity in darkness with only her voice and touch to comfort him.

A sudden cry brought Luisa out of her burst of inspiration, and she whirled around. James was clutching his face, moaning in intense discomfort. Throwing down the quill, Luisa flung herself back over to James and dropped to her knees. “James! What is it, what's wrong?!”

“I...” He pulled back his hands from his eyes, blinking rapidly. Ever so slowly, he looked up at Luisa's face—staring directly into her eyes. “Luisa—!” He grasped her face in his hands, laughing, “I can see you!”

“Oh my God—it actually worked,” Luisa exhaled before flinging her arms around his neck, kissing both of his eyes, clear red once again. “You're okay,” she choked out, “you're okay...”

“ _Of course he's okay... ___” A ghostly chuckle echoed through the abyss. James stood suddenly, pulling Luisa up beside him.

“Show yourself, Drosselmeyer!” he bellowed as Luisa set her jaw tightly. James would not be taken from her...Not again.

~

“Hurry, Fakir!” Duck urged her husband, hiking up her skirt as they ran through the deserted streets of Gold Crown, headed for the cemetery. Fakir had confided to Rue and Mytho that he knew of one way to access the world that trapped the deceased soul of Drosselmeyer—and that was at his tombstone where the hooded men who had cut off his hands had buried him. On the one hand, it was so full proof that both Duck and Fakir wondered aloud why they had never tried it before. On the other hand, that was years ago. After Fakir had written to save Princess Tutu from Drosselmeyer, the dead man very well could have sealed off that entrance to prevent any more disruptions to his conniving story spinning.

“Here,” Fakir finally spoke as the cobble-stoned streets became grass, four pairs of hurried footsteps silenced as the streetlamps faded away into the darkness, Mytho's lantern that he carried like a beacon on a lost stretch of land. “Stop, it's right here!” Fakir called out, throwing an arm out to keep Duck from colliding into him. He had skidded to a halt in front of the same tombstone from nearly twenty years ago, the stone he knew all too well—he had sat here for hours one night, trying to will his duck's feather to scratch out words to save Duck, that even after all these years he still knew it like the back of his hand. More moss and leaves covered it, showing its age, but other than that it looked exactly the same.

“This is where he's buried,” Rue nodded as if confirming what she was seeing was real.

“Uh, more or less,” Duck responded, twisting her hands nervously in front of her. 

“Kind of hard to spin stories from beyond the grave if you're six feet under,” Fakir chuckled grimly. Opening his leather case, he pulled out his yellow duck's feather quill and let it hover above the paper. For several minutes he stayed like this, and Rue took a step forward.

“Um...Fakir?”

“Shh!” Duck hissed, whirling back around to face her, “He's thinking!”

“Patience, dear,” Mytho muttered under his breath.

“Would you _all ___be _quiet! ___” Fakir roared, everyone falling silent at once. Turning back to the tombstone, he reflected back on what had brought him to this point. _Luisa...my only daughter is somewhere down there. Trapped in Drosselmeyer's clutches. I have to have faith that she's alive, or else this will never work. My daughter...Luisa... ___

Duck gasped softly as Fakir's quill began to glide along the page, words flowing from the ink. She had learned a long time ago not to look over his shoulder, and instead waited patiently beside Mytho and Rue.

“It's like watching an artist at work,” Mytho said softly, “A man overflowing with passion.”

Duck shook her head, “More like a man who only wants to do whatever he can for those he loves...even if he thinks he's useless.” 

“But passion can drive even the simplest of desires,” Rue added, she and Duck sharing a glance. “Especially devotion.”

“And if there is anyone Fakir is devoted to,” Mytho put a hand on Duck's shoulder, “it's the people he loves...and wants to protect.”

Duck reached for Mytho's hand and squeezed it as Fakir threw a page completely covered in his own writing to the ground, starting on a new one. Rushing forward, Duck snatched the parchment from the grass—as if she were afraid Drosselmeyer's hand would come out of the grave and take it for himself. As she read her knight's words, she couldn't help letting a sob escape her lips, cupping a hand over her mouth to quiet her tears. 

Fakir was not writing a story. He was writing a letter. A letter to Luisa.

~

“So,” Drosselemeyer's voice echoed, reverberating off the golden metal clock gears as he stepped forward to face his characters, “Prince James, heir to Prince Siegfried's throne...you managed to find your way here after all. Glad to see you're not 'stumbling blindly' anymore, if you will.” 

He chuckled at his little joke as Uzura hid behind Luisa's skirt, James stepping forward to shield both of them. “Enough of this,” James hissed under his breath, his red eyes glowing. But it was not the Raven's blood possessing him this time. No, this was a different rage, a vengeful rage—a desire to fight back. “It's over now, Drosselmeyer, we're going to settle this once and for all.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Drosselmeyer asked, the ghostly smile never leaving his face as he conjured up a wooden armchair and table set for tea, sitting down comfortably. “The story is finished.”

“What do you mean the story is finished?” Luisa piped up, hanging onto Uzura's hand as the little puppet trembled beside her.

“ _Your ___story, my dear girl,” the dead man explained. “The tale of a young girl with the longest of hair, stolen from her parents as an infant and raised in a high tower awaiting her rescue.” He took a long sip from his tea, less for himself and more to draw out the inevitable suspense. “Low and behold, a prince from afar visits her day after day, hoping to whisk her off to his kingdom and make her his bride.”

“You...knew?” Luisa breathed, every muscle in her body going limp, so much so that she nearly passed out, James panting heavily beside her. “You planned... _everything. ___Every moment, down to this very last second was planned from the beginning!”

“From the moment you were born!” Drosselmeyer laughed, “Your mother was with child because I made it so. You—” his wild eyes found James, determined to stand his ground “—infected with the princess' blood of the Raven because I wrote it.” He slid the table aside, striding down to where his victims stood before him. “Little did any one of you know that you have been in the palm of my hand from the start. Anything it took to make that damned boy let down his guard so I might spin stories once again of _my ___own free will!”

Luisa's heart felt like ice. The “boy” he spoke of was her father. She found her strength once again, staring down the old man with her nails digging into her palms. “In order to keep my father from taking control of my story himself—” Her breath caught in her throat as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, “You made my father...you made both of them believe I was dead.”

“Precisely,” Drosselmeyer drawled, a clenched laugh escaping his lips. “Had he known for sure if you were alive, there is no doubt his power has matured to the point where he could reclaim you. Your _darling ___mother has this infuriating habit of clinging to hope, constantly keeping her spirits high.” He leered down at Luisa, boring into the same blue eyes of the little duck he conned so long ago, “My intent was to crush that hope within her—snuff out the light before it grew too strong. For there is nothing more _boring ___than a story filled with hope.”

“What exactly do you intend to do now?” James shouted.

“Keep you both here, of course,” Drosselmeyer answered simply. “Watch the two of you become so hopeless that you sink into despair—culminating this great tragedy of mine. The two lovers reunited, yet left to waste away together. It's genius.”

“It's mad!” James roared, “You can't just keep us here forever!”

“Who says I can't?!” Drosselmeyer exclaimed gleefully, barely noticing Luisa backing slowly towards the writing desk behind her. “You see, this will always be my story...and I will always be in control.”

“Oh really?” came Luisa's sudden hard, confident tone as James and Drosselmeyer turned to look back at her. “Well, in your gloating and _careful ___planning, Drosselmeyer, you seem to have forgotten one very important detail.” Her hand felt for the white swan feather and she held it up for him to see.

“And what detail would that be, Luisa?”

“My father is directly descended from you,” Luisa smirked, letting the tip of the feather rest against her cheek. “Would that not mean your blood runs through _my ___veins as well?”

~

Faster and faster he wrote, pages littering the ground as Fakir wrote to Luisa, pouring out every word he had ever wanted to say to her for the past fifteen years. Duck, Rue and Mytho were all reading his words—so simple, yet moved by his honesty, his raw emotion he put forth into every sentence. 

“It has to be working,” Mytho said aloud as he finished scanning a page before moving onto another, “He has to be making some sort of progress!”

“I can't tell,” Duck was on her knees now, catching the pages as they fell. “Fakir, slow down!”

“No,” Fakir muttered firmly, the flow of his words never ceasing. “This is the only way to reach her...I know it now...”

“How do you know?” Rue asked desperately.

“If I speak to her—if I express through written words every conversation that I, as a father, has ever wished I had with my daughter, I'll be able to convince myself she's here,” Fakir exhaled in one breath, “I can bend her story to my will.”

“Rue,” Mytho said quietly, turning to his princess, “We must do the same for James.”

“What...but how?” Rue's brow furrowed in puzzlement, “Neither of us can spin stories.”

“We can dance,” Mytho smiled, taking her hand. “For us...this is how we express our feelings when words fail. Even when my heart was lost, I could always turn to dance to show you my eternal allegiance.”

Rue nodded in understanding as she stood to face him. “A pas de deux, then?” she asked, taking fifth position gracefully.

Duck watched in awe as the story's prince and princess began to twirl across the grass, a love story reflected in their eyes through the moonlight. But it was not for eachother—Duck recognized the look in Mytho's eyes and put a hand to her heart. It was the same expression Fakir wore the day she had given birth to Luisa, knowing that this child was his. Mytho and Rue danced for their son—just as Fakir was writing for their daughter.

Her eyes widened as Drosselmeyer's tombstone began to glow. Mytho was right. They _were ___making progress.

~

“You'll write a story,” James whispered in amazement, gazing at Luisa with utmost admiration as she gathered her quill and parchment in her hands.

“Yes,” Luisa said, going up to him and kissing him gently, “I can do it, James, I can get us out of here.”

“Without any ink?” Drosselmeyer laughed, then stopped abruptly as he looked down beside him. “What—what are you doing down there?!”

Uzura had stealthily made her way over to Drosselmeyer and plunged her tiny hand into the pocket of his robes, feeling her way around until her face lit up, “Success, zura!” She withdrew a bottled inkwell from the old man's pocket and dashed back over to Luisa.

“Thank you, Uzura,” Luisa said, planting a kiss on the puppet's forehead.

“Regardless,” Drosselmeyer sneered in her direction as Luisa dipped the tip of her quill in the inkwell, “you will not be able to free yourself from here.”

“Of course I can,” Luisa glared back at him. “You said for yourself I would need the resolve to get out of here, and I do!”

“As long as your parents believe you have wasted away in my clutches, there is no possible way you can escape,” the deceased man drawled on, rubbing his disjointed gloved hands together. “And you _will ___waste away...once you give into your despair.”

“You've tried this trick before, haven't you?” James hissed at him, “Using any doubts, any hopeless feelings she has against her—don't listen to him, Luisa!” He whirled around to face her, watching her grip slacken on the parchment in stunned silence.

“James, I...he's right,” Luisa breathed. “I had forgotten that he wrote this tale...we were created to suffer in order to punish our parents for defying him—”

“And don't you see?!” James cried, grabbing her by the shoulders, “This is how he almost won the last time! He's trying to make you focus solely on your despair so you'll give up. You can't give in.” He pulled her close to him, crushing the parchment between them, “What would Princess Tutu do?” he whispered in her ear, “What would your mother do? She wouldn't lose hope.”

 _As long as your parents believe you have wasted away...there is not possible way you can escape... ___“Oh James,” Luisa returned his embrace tightly, “Thank you...” She pulled away, putting the quill to the now wrinkled paper. As long as her father thought she was dead, she was destined to die in this horrid limbo. There was only one option...she had to reach her father, in the only way she knew how...

“Luisa,” James said softly as he watched her begin to write. There was a warmth, a passion he could feel emanating from her form. “What are you do—?”

“The only thing I can think of,” Luisa answered, half preoccupied by her writing. She paused slightly as her voice caught in her throat. “I'm writing...a letter to my father.”

~

“Fakir, look!” Duck cried, grabbing his ink stained hand to cease its insistent journey across the page. The tombstone that supposedly held Drosselmeyer's decaying form had reached a consistent heavenly glow. “Is that—?”

“Yes,” Fakir whispered, letting his pen fall for the first time in several long minutes, “It's where Drosselmeyer is...it's where Luisa and James are.” They both turned to see Mytho and Rue, bringing their pas de deux to an end in a silent, intimate embrace that made them instinctively interlock their fingers together.

“Duck,” Fakir exhaled as his wife looked up at him expectantly. He glanced from the elegant storybook couple back to the glowing tombstone—waiting for him. “No matter what happens here tonight...”

“Fakir, what are you—?” She was cut off as his lips met hers fiercely, before pushing her away and sprinting forward towards the gravestone. “Fakir, _don't! ___”

“What is he doing?!” Mytho cried out in fear for his childhood companion, rushing forward as Fakir grasped the stone with both hands. Instant, sharp, increasing white heat met his hands as the writer gritted his teeth against the pain.

Duck's pleading with her husband was cut off as she looked down in amazement at the parchment Fakir had shoved into her hands. Ink swirled within the page before it came to rest, forming deep blue curved handwriting. _My dearest father...wherever you may be... ___

“Fakir, you have to see—!” A sudden scream of pain made her jolt her head upright, Mytho's scream of “ _No! ___” confirming her worst fear. The heat from the tombstone had created an electric shock reaction, as the Great Oak Tree had so long ago. Fakir flew backwards a few feet from the stone, landing on his back—his eyes closed, completely motionless.

The page, scrawled with what could only be Luisa's handwriting, fluttered to the ground as Duck—for the first time in years—let out a fearful, plainly audible “Quack!”

~

“What—what is this?!” Drosselmeyer exclaimed, whirling around as one of the clock gears behind him became bathed in a heavenly glow. “It can't be!”

“Luisa, you're doing it!” James shouted encouragingly, watching intently as Luisa scrawled across the page, ink staining her hands, sprinkling on her nose, but never ceasing. It had been far too long, and there was far too much to say. Her parents would know how much she had missed them, how much she longed to have known them in her childhood—how much she loved them with all her heart. 

“Stop this, do you hear me?!” Drosselmeyer roared at Luisa, who showed no signs of hearing him much less stopping. “As your guardian, the man who raised you since your infancy, I order you to—!”

“ _Drosselmeyer! ___”

Luisa finally looked up, thinking it was James who had shouted. But no...the voice had come from too far away, echoing through the abyss like the dark toll of a bell. As if it had come from an entirely different place...

“Well,” Drosselmeyer's grin had faded as he faced the gear behind him. An image had begun to flicker upon it, growing slowly clearer until a face appeared within it. “Prince Siegfried...it's been awhile, hasn't it?”

“Father!” James cried out, whirling to face the gear as relief flooded his face, “How did you find us?”

“James, stay right where you are,” the prince said firmly before turning back to the old man. “Release my son and Fakir's daughter this instant.”

“The only way for that to happen is if the writer wills it to,” Drosselmeyer said darkly. “Luisa's power is far too adolescent to bend reality to her will. So...where is the writer who insists on interfering with my affairs?”

“I'll never forgive you for this!” cried another voice, female and strangled with emotion. Luisa watched as the image grew clearly into a dimly lit graveyard where four figures were present. Two she immediately recognized from the pages of _The Prince and the Raven ___—the elegant Prince Siegfried and his princess, once the daughter of the Raven. The woman who had screamed, however, was petite with long red hair that rippled down her back. She knelt beside the crumpled form of a tall man with tan skin and dark hair—the same shade as Luisa's. And the red-haired woman glared back at Drosselmeyer—with Luisa's same deep blue eyes.

“Well little duck, you just never know when to stop meddling do you?” Drosselmeyer regarded her like a father scolding his child as Luisa dropped her pen and paper to the ground. The duck from the story...Princess Tutu... _her mother ___.

“You stole my daughter from me, and now you've done this to Fakir!” Duck shouted, cradling Fakir's unconscious form in her lap, “ _You're ___the one who doesn't know when to stop meddling!”

“ _Here! ___” Drosselmeyer bellowed, grabbing Luisa by the arm and swinging her around roughly so she was staring directly into the panicked face of her mother. “She's been here under my curse for fifteen years! Now it's your choice—your husband's life or your daughter's!”

“Why do you delight in tormenting us like this?!” Rue finally stormed forward unleashing a fury she felt only once before, when she discovered the Raven had abducted her, and had never thought she would feel again. “Our children have done nothing to you, so let them go!”

“Let me have my tragedy and you can have your children safe and sound—or rather, as safe as their fate would allow,” Drosselmeyer hissed at the livid princess. Just as Rue was beginning to tremble with rage, Duck felt Fakir stir in her lap and let out a cry of relief.

“D-Drosselmeyer...” Fakir choked out weakly, sitting up to face him as Duck held him tightly by the shoulders, afraid to let him go.

“Ah, the man of the hour himself has decided to join us in the land of the living,” Drosselmeyer growled, restraining Luisa even tighter with both hands. “Your precious daughter has been most anxious to finally see you.”

“Father!” Luisa cried, her voice breaking as tears sprang to her eyes, struggling to break free from Drosselmeyer's grip.

“Luisa!” Fakir stumbled forward, slamming his hands against the portal to try and reach her, but was blocked by some invisible boundary of glass. “Luisa, I'm here—your mother and I are right here!”

“There's nothing you can do for her as long as I—!” The dead man's gloating was cut short as he let out a strangled yell, forced to the ground by the impact of James' body slamming against his.

“Luisa, go now!” James screamed, stabbing the dagger from his belt into the dead man's throat. It would not finish the job, but it would keep the fossil preoccupied long enough for Luisa to escape.

“I can't just leave you here!” Luisa cried, finally yanking herself free.

“You said you wanted to see your parents again, didn't you?!” James hollered, struggling to hold the dead man on the ground, “This was your dream, wasn't it?! Go to them and don't worry about me!”

“Please James, _please—! ___” Luisa started to sob.

“ _I said go! ___” James yelled at the top of his lungs—just as Drosselmeyer yanked the dagger from his bloodless wound and plunged it into James' shoulder.

“James— _James! ___” Rue screeched, Mytho holding her back from throwing herself at the portal.

By the time Luisa heard her prince's deafening cry of pain, it was too late. Her hands had passed through the glass-like boundary of the portal as easily as if it were the surface of clear water, and Duck thrust her own hands through to pull her out. There was a swirling sensation of dizziness that resonated only for a fleeting moment before Luisa slammed hard onto the dewy grass in Gold Crown's graveyard.

“No—no, _no, no, no! ___” Luisa screamed over and over, the joy at seeing her parents and the anguish at being forced to leave James behind too much for her to take in all at once.

“Luisa, my _darling Luisa ___,” Duck wept as Luisa fell into her arms, both women beside themselves with tears as they clung to eachother.

“I can't bear this,” Rue broke down, clutching at Mytho's chest desperately as she watched her only son writhe in pain as blood seeped from his shoulder, “I just can't!”

“Luisa,” came a low, firm voice. Luisa wiped her face on Duck's shoulder before looking up to face the man who was her father for the first time. It was not the husky, emotional tone expected from a man who had not seen his daughter for fifteen years, but a commanding voice that called her to attention at once. “Do you love him? Do you love James with every fiber of your being?”

Luisa gulped several times as Duck stroked her frayed dark hair soothingly. Finally she nodded vigorously, “Yes...with everything I am, yes.”

“Then you can free him.” Fakir then held out his quill and parchment for his daughter, who took them gingerly. The inevitable emotional reunion with her father would have to wait—at the moment, Luisa had to assure that James was safe. She looked from the tombstone, where Drosselmeyer stood over James snickering with glee to Rue crying into Mytho's chest before putting the duck feather quill to the paper.

 _At that moment...the maiden in who had escaped from the tower called to her prince, to lead him out of the darkness. ___The scream ripped from her throat before she could stop it.

“ _JAMES!!! ___”

“ _LUISA!!! ___” At that moment, the gravestone glowed brighter than ever, Drosselmeyer's yell of defiance barely heard as James rose through the portal and landed gracefully on the grass before crumpling due to the wound in his shoulder. The echoing scream from Drosselmeyer grew fainter and fainter before a slamming of stone sealed the tomb shut once again. For a moment there was silence, the question of whether he was truly gone hanging in the air. One thing was certain however—the sadistic dead man who loved tragedy was finished with this story.

“James!” Mytho called, rushing over to tend to his shoulder as Rue held her son to her chest, kissing his face.

“It's—it's fine, Father, just my arm,” James cringed as Rue tore a piece of fabric from her gown to wrap around his shoulder. 

Mytho pulled his son into a strong embrace, stunning James with this sudden display of affection, “I'm just so relieved you’re safe.”

“I did it,” Luisa panted, “I brought him back.”

“Yes, you did,” Fakir said. His gruff voice began to tremble as tears filled his emerald eyes, “There is no doubt—that you're my daughter.”

Luisa dropped the parchment to the ground before bursting into tears, flinging herself into her father's waiting arms and burying herself in his chest as Fakir began to weep softly as well.

“You're _him, ___” Luisa said quietly, pulling back to look up into her father's face, “You wrote the end to _The Prince and the Raven, ___the one Drosselmeyer would never let me see. And Mother—” She turned to face Duck, who got up from the ground and came to her side, “The duck who became Princess Tutu, who put the prince's heart back together—”

“Yes, yes it's all true,” Duck whispered, pressing her lips to Luisa's forehead. “I'm so sorry, Luisa...”

“If I had known this is what the consequence would be,” Fakir choked out, shaking his head in agony, “I never would have finished that story.”

“Don't say that, Fakir—you know it's not true,” Mytho stated wisely, “I would have cut out my heart again if you hadn't. Rue would be dead, you would have lost Duck, the gift that is our children would not be here had you not cast down your sword and taken up the pen. Your daughter would never have met my son...and made him happier than I've ever seen him before.”

Fakir looked over at Duck, who nodded slightly as they both released their hold on Luisa so she could dash across the grass into James' embrace.

“Mother, Father...” James began, pulling Luisa closer, “I've chosen my bride, the woman to aid me in becoming your heir.”

“Then let us return to the kingdom and have the both of you wed at once,” Rue said happily, taking Luisa's hand and squeezing it.

“Now wait a moment—”

“Fakir,” Duck said in an undertone.

“Duck, we just—I can't let them—” Fakir stammered.

“ _Fakir, ___” Duck ordered, placing a hand over his mouth. “She loves him. He loves her. We can't be the ones to keep them apart.”

“Then come with us,” Mytho urged them, “Live in my palace, where you'll always know that Luisa is safe.”

“Mytho, I can't leave Gold Crown—I have a responsibility here,” Fakir said in a hard tone. “I swore to this town I would continue writing its stories, I swore to Duck I would never leave her side. I can't break that promise.”

Luisa closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against James' chest as she felt her heart being torn in two. She had been united with her parents again moments ago, only to be torn from them again to be with the man she loved.

“That leaves only one option then, doesn't it?” James said, looking down at Luisa who pulled back to face him. He smiled warmly, “I'll have to stay here then.”

“James!” Rue cried.

“Rue, stand down,” Mytho ordered, and the princess took a step back.

“James, why—?”

“I will _not ___be the one to rip you from your parents a second time,” James insisted before turning to Mytho and Rue. “Please, with your permission Father, I would like to remain here with Luisa.”

“Does that mean...?” Mytho trailed off as James nodded.

“I give up my claim to the throne.”

“James...” Rue whispered, cupping his face in her hands, “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Yes,” the young prince answered, kissing his mother's hand. “Besides—in due time, I'm sure my sisters will be able to run the kingdom with all the dignity and grace you both have.”

He and Luisa both had to turn away to hide their laughter as Mytho and Rue glanced at eachother with looks of horror.

~

A few months later, Luisa sat braiding her mother's long hair one evening by the light of a warm fire while Duck perused Fakir's latest work before sending it off to Autor. Several weeks earlier, James and Luisa had been married in an elegant yet simple ceremony—well, as simple as one could get when the entirety of the kingdom attended—and left on the wings of James' swan carriage for Gold Crown the following day. 

The transition period had been a great deal easier than Luisa assumed it would be. James adjusted well to the simple life her parents led on Fakir's meager writer's salary, with the promise that they would have their own cottage in due time. In the meantime, Duck and Fakir bonded with Luisa over the course of time, while constantly stunned at how their daughter had turned out to be a perfect mix of both of them—when happy, she was quite the chatterbox; when upset, she withdrew in isolation and snapped at anyone who tried to speak to her. Now, being ever so happy, Duck and Luisa chattered so loud and long that Fakir wondered if he would ever get any writing done ever again.

“Would the both of you please keep it down out there?!” Fakir called from his writing desk as he worked on a manuscript giving him particular trouble.

“I'm styling Mother's hair, Father!” Luisa called back, “You should see it!”

There was a pause before Fakir responded. “Don't forget to pull out the gray ones.”

“Wha— _Fakir! ___” Duck shrieked back at him while Luisa doubled over with laughter. Once she had calmed down, she asked her now slightly disgruntled mother to regale her time as Princess Tutu and how she and her father had met once again. She never got tired of hearing this story, the one _The Prince and the Raven ___did not provide, yet was all the more important to that story's outcome.

“I'm home!” James called from the front door. Luisa fastened Duck's braid at the end before getting up to greet her prince with a kiss.

“Any news yet?” Duck asked, examining her hair in the mirror on the wall.

“The cottage is ready,” James announced as Fakir came in from the study, “Luisa and I will move in three days’ time.”

“How far is it?” Luisa asked, not wanting to leave her parents so soon—and judging by their crestfallen faces, they were thinking the same thing.

“Just down the lake's shore, closer to town,” James reassured her, “You could practically walk there from here.”

“Oh good,” Duck sighed in relief, just as Luisa and James' lips met in a long kiss. Moments passed and they did not break apart. “Um, Fakir?”

“Hmm?” Fakir mumbled, pointedly looking the opposite direction. Duck nudged him in the arm and pointed to the kitchen, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, oh right,” he said quickly, finally understanding as they both slipped quietly out of sight.

“You have gall to kiss me that long in front of them, Your Highness,” Luisa teased James once they parted, “You know how overprotective my father is.”

“Three more days and we're out of their hair,” James reminded her, and a grinning Luisa moaned in approval before pulling him down for one more kiss. “I have something for you, my princess.”

“A late wedding present?” Luisa said slyly, sitting on the sofa closest to the fire.

“Somewhat,” James answered, sitting beside her and pulling out a flat rectangular package. “I was perusing the bookstore this afternoon and found something...quite familiar.”

Luisa's brow furrowed as she took the package from him and opened it. A slight uneasiness settled in her stomach as she ran her hand over the elaborate cover art, meeting James' questioning glance. For the title of the book was...

_The Story of Rapunzel. ___

THE END


End file.
